


Friends and Burgers

by justkeeponwriting



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angel Castiel, Bottom Dean, M/M, Pining, Top Castiel, Wing Kink, deancastropefest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkeeponwriting/pseuds/justkeeponwriting
Summary: Dean’s been in love with his best friend ever since he was a six-year-old kid with a constantly muddy face, and Cas was an eight-year-old fledgling with constantly unruly wings. Nothing much has changed since childhood, except Dean’s finally ready to confess his feelings to Cas.And then Cas announces that he’s getting married.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for [Dean/Cas TropeFest 2016](http://deancastropefest.tumblr.com/). I had another idea I was planning to use, but realized that I couldn’t get it done in time, so this happened. Weirdly, I got the idea and the title for this fic when I was walking home and saw a restaurant named Friends & Brgrs (a Finnish chain restaurant). Thanks for the weirdest place of inspiration I’ve ever had, I guess.
> 
> A million thanks to my artist, [nonexistenz](http://nonexistenz.tumblr.com/), whose art is way better than I deserved for this story. Thank you! View the art [here](http://nonexistenz.tumblr.com/post/150365892227/part-of-the-deancas-tropefest-2016-author)!

“The sign is crooked,” was the first thing Jo said when she stepped out of the car. She slammed the door shut behind her, and remained standing by the car for a few moments, watching and taking in the place. On the driver side of the car, Dean rolled his eyes as he stepped out, twirling the car keys between his fingers.

“Shut up. I’ll fix it,” Dean said. He slammed the door shut behind him and locked the car before turning to face the building he now owned.

Frankly, one crooked sign was only one tiny thing in the long list of things Dean needed to fix before he could open the place. Jo was just using her privilege as an (adoptive) sister to mock Dean. Dean’s vision was still perfect – not that he’d lower himself to get glasses even if he needed to, since he thought that no pair would fit his face – and even in the dim lighting of that summer eve, he could very well see that the restaurant needed _a lot_ of work before opening night.

The house was situated near the main street, on the Northern part of their little town, on a small road that forked right from the main street. It was an old building, originally from the early 1920’s, and it had served as a flower shop, a casino, and a funeral home, among other things, before a newcomer named Missouri Moseley had bought it in the 70’s. Missouri had a clear vision and set out to make it happen: she renovated the house and opened a restaurant. Their small town had grown a little after the 70’s, but back then, it had been one of the only three restaurants there, and curiosity alone had bought people to Missouri’s place. Nowadays, the main street was a little more populated, lively with the occasional tourist and summer residents, but the smaller streets forking from it had remained almost as if trapped in time, and _Missouri’s Kitchen_ still looked like it had looked when Dean had stepped in there the first time.

While _Missouri’s Kitchen_ had been an okay place, it had never done great. But it had made enough money to keep afloat, and mostly the town residents came to eat there because they loved Missouri and her personality, more than they loved her food. Undeterred, Missouri had run the place for thirty years before retiring a few years back. However, it was obvious that during the last ten years, Missouri had gotten tired of her little restaurant, and hadn’t done much to update the building. The lack of care showed: the white paint was chipped, the signs were crooked, and when Dean had inspected the place before making an offer, he’d discovered that the roof leaked. The porch that had been added to the building in the 80’s was the newest part of it, and even that looked like a breeze would blow it away.

In short, the whole place was a mess. A crooked sign was the least of Dean’s worries. However, all that was just a minor detail in Dean’s mind; Dean didn’t care about the amount of effort he’d need to put into the place. He’d already invested a lot of money in it, and he couldn’t be happier that he’d managed to convince Missouri to sell the place to him. Dean would start remodeling and rebuilding next week, hopefully with his friends and family assisting him, and he already had a new cook in mind. He’d planned out everything, from the placement of the tables to the menu and the staff, and even the door that was about to fall off its hinges put a smile on his face when he stepped inside.

“I can’t believe you actually put money into this place,” Jo said, frowning. Despite her complaining, she followed Dean inside. She stopped to the threshold, looking at the empty dining hall and the layers of dust covering every inch of the room.

“I’ll make it work,” Dean said.

“I’m not saying you won’t. I’m just saying, your customers won’t know which rotten floorboards to avoid. It’s different for you. You practically lived here, growing up.”

And that was the primary reason why Dean had bought a deteriorating house on a dead quiet street. Growing up, _Missouri’s Kitchen_ was one of the few restaurants in their town, and Dean had been coming here almost every day after school ever since he was eight. He wasn’t attached to the rotting floorboards, the leaking roof, or Missouri’s sub-par food – he was attached to the memory of spending all those afternoons and evenings with his best friend Castiel here. All those days they’d done their homework sitting by the bar, played between the tables, helping out in the kitchen, talking about everything and nothing until Missouri had kicked them out… He and Cas had grown up here, becoming such a fixture by their second year that Missouri had marked their table with a special tablecloth. When Missouri had closed the business and retired, Dean had known right away that he needed to do something, before anyone else got their hands on the house.

Jo passed the corner where Dean and Castiel’s table had used to be, but of course, it was empty now. The funny tablecloth with small cherubs was gone, as were all the tables and creaking chairs. The whole place was completely empty, save for the dust and spider webs hanging from the rafters. The floorboards creaked under them as Dean and Jo walked through the room, their feet leaving prints in the dust. The house had been empty for five years, and it seemed that no one had set a foot in it before Dean had called up Missouri and asked to see it. Their three-week-old footprints were the only other set of prints in the dust.

Jo sneezed, and Dean couldn’t blame her. The first thing he needed to do was to mop the floor. It was disgusting.

“You really think this is worth all the trouble?” Jo grumbled. “Missouri couldn’t make this place great.”

“She didn’t know how to cook,” Dean fired back. “I’ve got a secret ace up my sleeve.”

“Yeah, yeah. Does Benny know that you’ve hired him?”

“Of course he does,” Dean said, annoyed. “I asked him before I signed the deal. I’m not an idiot, you know. I have plans.”

“So you keep saying,” Jo said. She doodled a flower in the dust on the bar counter. It was the only thing in the room that reminded that there used to be a restaurant here. “I just don’t know how you see potential in this dump, but to each their own.”

“Stop calling my new home a dump. It’s gonna be great.”

“You’re gonna move in here?” Jo asked, surprised. Missouri had lived in the upstairs of the restaurant, but when she’d shut the restaurant down, she’d moved to a new apartment at the edge of their town. She’d actually urged Dean to do the same, to have a home apart from the restaurant, but Dean disagreed. He wanted to move in as soon as possible, so that he’d get to be in control of his own business whenever he wanted and however he wanted. Besides, living at Ellen and Bobby’s house was putting a strain on all of them, even if Ellen, Bobby, Jo, and even Sam, were all too kind to admit that. Dean was twenty-five – it was a high time for him to move out of his childhood home and start his own life.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, pride in his voice. “As soon as I fix up the place.”

“Dean, that’s gonna take years. You can’t do all this by hand. Or by blackmailing you family and friends into helping,” Jo said. “You need to hire a contractor.”

Dean didn’t want to admit to Jo that he didn’t have the money for any big changes or hiring a professional to design the place. It had taken every single cent of his savings and dignity to buy this place, and even then, he’d needed to take out a small loan. Missouri had asked very little for the property, but even so, the rebuilding and remodeling would take out a sizable amount of Dean’s budget. Dean had planned out things, but it was never said that they were great plans.

“Cas is gonna help me,” Dean said.

“Cas is an angel, not a miracle worker,” Jo snorted.

“Same thing.”

“It’s really not.”

“You’re just jealous he’s never used any grace for your sake.”

“That’s a good thing, Dean, Jesus. At least I never fell from a tree and bruised my arm and didn’t stop crying until Cas healed me.”

Dean didn’t bother answering Jo. Instead, he trotted to the small staircase in the left side of the room and started to climb them up. The stairs creaked under him, but Dean could tell they were sturdy, even after decades of neglect.

Jo’s view of his best friend might’ve been a little warped – or then it was the other way around. Dean was six years old when he bumped into the angel Castiel, and ever since then, they’d stuck together. Although Dean liked to tell the story of how they met as if it was an epic tale, Castiel always ducked his head and wings in embarrassment and said, “It was nothing.” In all honesty, the story was only impressive in a six-year-old Dean’s mind, and had grown to epic lengths as the years had passed, much to Castiel’s embarrassment and everyone else’s amusement.

When Dean had been a kid, a grouchy old man called Crowley had lived on the same street as Dean, on the other end of it. Crowley owned three bullterriers, and even though the old, creepy man loved his dogs, no one else cared for them. They were poorly trained, barked at everything because they didn’t have anything to do, and they were aggressive, because Crowley used fear to teach them. One afternoon, six-year-old Dean had wandered down the street – Dean had forgotten why – and as he’d walked by Crowley’s house, one of the dogs had gotten loose from the doghouse it had been chained to.

The dog had barked at Dean, and when Dean had foolishly barked back, annoying the dog, the dog charged at him. Dean managed to run to the corner of another house before the dog caught him, tackling him to the ground. Just when Dean had thought that the dog was going to rip his throat open, someone grabbed the dog and pulled it off of him.

(“As if an angel appeared before me,” Dean always said at this point of the story.

“Dean, I’m literally an—”

“It’s a saying, Cas. Don’t ruin this for me.”)

Even at eight years old, Castiel was still considerably stronger than most adult human males, and Dean had been awed by how easily Castiel pulled the dog off of him. The dog tried to attack Cas, but Castiel only needed to slap it once, before the dog got the message and ran away with its tail tucked between its legs.

“Are you alright?” was the first thing Castiel ever said to him.

“Are you an angel?” was the first of the many, many foolish things Dean Winchester ever said to Castiel.

Uncomprehending, Castiel raised his wings behind him. Dean stared at the black mess of feathers, his mouth falling open. Castiel’s wings looked like no one had groomed them in a long while, with the feathers sticking out in all directions, and on top of that, all the feathers looked as if they were pulled from different stacks – nothing seemed to match. They were all different sized, some oddly shaped, some fluffier and some sharper. The only constant theme among them was the cobalt streaks of color highlighting the tips of the feathers, only to blend into the black that dominated the rest of the wings. Dean got lightheaded trying to track the pattern, and even in adulthood, he could never get enough of watching the intersecting lines. Much later, when he was in college, he finally figured out that the lines weren’t random. Specifically, they were Lyapunov fractals, so intricate and complex, that they just looked random.

“Of course I am,” Castiel said. “Haven’t you ever met an angel before?”

“But angels are from stories,” Dean argued. “My mom said so. She said that angels watch me over when I sleep.”

“Why would I watch you sleep?” Castiel asked. His wings drooped down and shook – it was a gesture that Dean later understood to mean confusion.

“I dunno,” Dean said. “You don’t look like an angel.”

“I _am_ an angel,” Castiel repeated, now sounding annoyed. He raised his wings again, and the long feathers on the top arched towards the sky. Dean looked on, transfixed. “What do you think we look like?”

“My mom has a painting where angels have white wings and halos and white clothes.”

“That’s Dominions,” Castiel said. “Dominions have white wings.”

“What’s a Dominion?”

Castiel paused, looking unsure for the first time.

“I dunno,” he said, repeating the words with the same intonation as Dean earlier. “They just have white wings and clothes. Dominions told us to live here.”

“You live here?” Dean perked up.

“In that house,” Castiel said, pointing at the house opposite from Crowley’s. It looked just like all the other houses on the street, with a big yard and a tree planted in the front of the house. In fact, the only difference between Castiel’s house and Dean’s house was that Castiel’s house was painted blue, whereas Dean’s was yellow.

“I live there,” Dean said, just as proud as he pointed at the opposite end of the street. “Do you wanna come over and play?”

Castiel blinked, and his wings started to shake. “You want me to play with you?”

Dean couldn’t comprehend why Castiel thought the question odd. He frowned. “Can you play catch?”

“Yes?”

“Okay. We can play catch. Or tag. And I have new hockey sticks!”

Castiel gave Dean with a strange look, and for a second, it looked as if his eyes were glowing blue. When Dean blinked, the color disappeared, as if it was never there, and Castiel looked more at ease.

“Okay,” he finally said.

Dean and Castiel hadn’t been best friends at first. Castiel was two years older than him, already in school, and Dean didn’t understand why Castiel insisted on sitting inside with his books after school when Dean would rather go outside and roam the streets. Dean didn’t always understand Castiel’s odd humor or the words that he used, and likewise, Castiel would often look at Dean like he was something incomprehensible. (To be fair, Cas still used that look on Dean, and Dean still made fun of Cas’s extensive vocabulary.) But in time, they got used to each other’s quirks and habits, and once Dean started elementary school, they became inseparable. Dean would go over to Cas’s house every day to do his homework with Castiel. Even on the days when he had no homework, he would go over and sit by the bed, patiently waiting for Cas to finish his work so that they could go outside again.

Dean smiled at the memory as he reached the top of the stairs. The second store of the house was just as dusty as the first floor, and the wallpaper with a blue floral pattern was weary and torn in places. Dean wandered from room to room, making a mental map of the place and already planning what would go where. The second floor wouldn’t need much repairing, thankfully. It was just in dire need of cleaning, and the tiny stove that had served as a private kitchen was woefully past its prime, but it would work until Dean got the place up and running.

“Well, this is bleak,” Jo commented. Dean started when he heard her speak – he hadn’t heard her come up.

“If you don’t have anything nice to say—”

“Alright, Mr. I’m-In-Denial.”

“I’ll handle this myself,” Dean sighed. “I don’t even know why I asked you to come here.”

“For moral support? To plan the decoration?”

“I would’ve asked Sam in that case. He has better eye than you.”

“Rude,” Jo said. “But honestly, I’m not sure what I could even do.”

“Get out,” Dean said, waving his hand. “I’ll handle this. I’ll call you later.”

“If you say so,” Jo said, but she seemed pleased that she didn’t need to start cleaning up. Dean would get her to help later on, but for now, he supposed that being alone in the building and getting acquainted with it was a better option than listening to Jo’s nagging about how foolish his idea was.

To his surprise, before Jo left, she hit him in the arm and said, “You’ll make it work. It’s gonna be great, Dean.”

Sometimes, his sister could be nice. Occasionally. When the stars aligned perfectly.

Dean loitered from room to room after Jo left, debating what he should do first. Finally, he decided to start with the obvious, and fetched a mop and a bucket from the downstairs closet. Dean had brought them over three weeks ago when he’d scouted out the place, already sure that he’d make an offer Missouri couldn’t refuse, and he’d been right. Dean sneezed as he opened the windows and started to clean the floor, but it was satisfying to watch how the thick layers of dust disappeared and the hardwood floor came to light once again. Once the dirt was gone, it was easier to see the restaurant Dean still saw in his mind every time he thought of this place.

Dean and Castiel had found _Missouri’s Kitchen_ when Dean was eight and Castiel was ten. Dean had just lost his mother, and a family friend called Ellen Harvelle had graciously taken him and his little brother Sam in, once it became clear that Dean’s father wasn’t up to the task, but it was a tough situation for everyone. Dean missed his mother and didn’t want to stay at Ellen’s, and four-year-old Sam was too young to understand why his mom wasn’t coming back, and why their dad didn’t want to see them. The relationship between Sam and their dad was still much more strained than what Dean had, even if Dean’s relationship with John Winchester was still pretty pathetic by all accounts. John had never been able to cope with the death of his wife, and it was a small miracle he still clung to life, after nearly two decades of looking for answers in the nearest bottle of whiskey, and driving around the country with no permanent place to stay. Dean understood his father a bit better now that he was an adult, but back when he’d been eight years old, it had been incomprehensible that dad had abandoned them to the care of Ellen.

Ellen, and her then-friend, later husband Bobby, had been accommodating from the start, but Dean had disliked everything about the situation. He didn’t want to play with Ellen’s daughter, three-year-old Jo, he didn’t want to talk to Ellen or Bobby, and he didn’t want to go to Ellen’s house after school, so he spent every moment he could with Castiel. Cas was also the only person Dean talked for three months after his mother’s death, and even with Cas, it was sparse and stilted. Dean felt stifled, like he couldn’t form words, but Castiel never seemed to think it was odd, and talked for them both whenever the situation called for it. In retrospect, it was a tremendous feat on Castiel’s part and something Dean learned to appreciate much later.

One day in December, Dean and Cas were rushing through the heavy rain when they spotted _Missouri’s Kitchen._ Drenched, they took cover inside, and shivered as the heavy door slammed shut behind them.

“Stop dripping all over my floor,” was Missouri’s way of greeting them. Dean and Castiel stared at her, not really knowing what to say. There were only a few people in the restaurant, and as Missouri wasn’t serving anyone, she came out from behind the counter. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, you’re both drenched. Pam, sweetheart, bring those boys a towel, would you?”

A brunette waiter appeared immediately, smiling comfortingly at them. “My, you two really are drenched. Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said when Pam handed them a huge white towel. Dean didn’t say a word, and instead, watched Pam from the corner of his eye as he waited for Castiel to finish drying up. As soon as Castiel had ran the towel through his hair, he turned to plant it on Dean’s head and helped Dean dry up. Wordlessly, Dean let Castiel dry his hair and put the towel around his shoulders.

“You’re Naomi’s son, right?” Pam asked.

“I am Castiel of the Aaetpio house,” Cas said. Dean never understood why Cas got so serious when he introduced himself, but he always did it the same way, complete with a weird hand-sign. He did the sign to Pam as well, a complex formation of fingers in three parts, and ended the ritual in a small bow.

Pam didn’t seem to think it odd, though. She nodded at Castiel with a smile.

“I’ve seen you around. You’re cute,” Pam said, and Cas’s wings twitched at that. “And who’s this?”

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel said, just as seriously.

“Ah,” Pam said, looking at Dean with a sad smile. Dean hated it when adults looked at him like that, so he looked away. “You’re Mary Winchester’s boy. I should’ve guessed. You look just like her.”

Dean didn’t answer, but he lifted his eyes from the floor, glancing at Pam’s direction. Castiel’s wings fluttered happily at that.

“Well,” Missouri said then, “Take a seat, boys. That rain won’t be stopping for a while.”

“Are you hungry?” Pam asked as she guided them to a booth table by the window. Dean stared down at the table, waiting for Castiel to get into the booth and arrange his wings.

“Do you have hamburgers?” Cas asked, a hopeful note in his voice. Pam laughed.

“Missouri, could you whip up burgers for these boys?”

“That’s not on the menu,” Missouri said, “but I’m gonna make an exception for you boys.”

Faster than they would’ve thought, Missouri personally brought them two huge burgers and a glass of Coke for each. Dean’s eyes bulged when he saw the food, and though he hadn’t had appetite in ages, he followed Castiel’s example and dug into his food. Cas was consuming the burger at the speed of light, clearly enjoying it, but Dean took a little bit longer. He carefully sampled it first, and when one bite tasted great, he started to eat with bigger bites, until he was gorging on it.

“That burger to your liking, boy?” Missouri asked him.

Dean didn’t answer. But he nodded at Missouri and gave her a small smile, which was more communication than he’d had with anyone except Cas for a month. Castiel stared at Dean, then back at Missouri, and embarrassed, Dean dug into his food again. Missouri smiled as the boys finished their meals, a knowing smile on her face.

“Thank you for the food,” Castiel politely said when they were finished. He dug his wallet from his back bag – shaped like a frog – and snapped its mouth open, before Missouri laughed.

“I ain’t taking your money, boys.”

“But we owe you,” Castiel said, clearly not understanding.

“Pay me back later, when I ask,” Missouri said.

“Thank you,” Castiel said, still a little unsure. He glanced at Dean, and Dean looked back, just as unsure. “Can we stay until the rain stops?”

“Boys, you’re welcome to stay for as long as you’d like,” Missouri said.

Dean and Castiel took that invitation to heart. Because Dean didn’t want to go to his new “home” after school, he either tagged along to stay at Cas’s house, or then he and Cas went to _Missouri’s Kitchen_. They did their homework by a corner table, relocating there from the window booth, and got help from other customers, Pam, and Missouri. When that was done, they doodled on the napkins and amused other customers. Missouri never demanded money for the food they ate, and as time passed and they got older, they started to help around in the kitchen, or bringing drinks to the table, anything to compensate for the free food. Dean eventually got used to Ellen’s house, started to talk again, and befriended Jo, but they hadn’t stopped spending time at Missouri’s.

Once, when Dean was fourteen, he tried to count all the money they owed Missouri as a practice for an upcoming Math test. Truthfully, the methods he used to count what they owed Missouri didn’t help him prepare for the test at all, but it was a good way to avoid studying for real, and besides, Cas found it interesting. They sat on the floor in Dean’s room, which was originally the attic at the Harvelle house, and counted in the dim light of the lamp, their heads bowed together. (Castiel liked to sit on the floor of Dean’s room, because there was more room for his wings that way. He liked Dean’s room more than any other room in the house for that reason, too – he could really stretch his wings without bumping into anything, and as Dean loved to look at his outstretched wings and track the patterns of the blue color, it worked out for them both.) The sum they got was probably nowhere near the correct amount, but it was enough for both of them to feel guilty about all the free food they’d eaten during the years.

“I don’t have enough money in my piggy bank to pay this,” Dean commented, staring at the calculations spread all over the floor. “And Ellen doesn’t let me see my bank account. I don’t know how much I own.”

“I only have twenty dollars,” Castiel said. This was as per usual – Castiel’s mother didn’t give him any money, unless Cas specifically requested it for something, and even then, his mother would deny him if she didn’t deem it necessary. Then again, the lack of money had taught Castiel to get creative and patient, and he and Dean rarely needed money to have fun together. “Have we really eaten this much?”

“I dunno,” Dean said, looking at the numbers again. “Probably more.”

“How are we supposed to pay Missouri back?”

“We could work off the debt,” Dean said. He let it slip offhandedly, not really meaning it, but as soon as he’d said it, he and Castiel shared a glance. They both nodded.

Missouri wasn’t as thrilled by their plans to work off their debt during the summer. She shook her head and laughed when they showed up at the restaurant, demanding work.

“Boy, you’re too young to work here,” Missouri said, taking a meaninful look at Dean, from head to toe. “And you,” she pointed at Castiel, whose wings drooped at this, “are supposed to be studying. Aren’t you supposed to apply to college soon?”

“That’s next year,” Cas mumbled.

“Well, wouldn’t you rather have a summer vacation, then?”

“I’d rather have a summer job,” Cas protested.

“And I’m fourteen,” Dean added. “I can legally work if I want to.”

Missouri took a look at their faces, and shook her head. “I guess it’s useless to tell you boys no. You never took that for an answer. Alright, then. But if you wanna work here, I’m paying you.”

“But—”

“I never asked you to pay back the debt, did I?” She grinned, flashing her white teeth like a shark. “Come on, then. But God help you two if you smash even one of my plates.”

“We won’t!” Dean promised, with a bright smile.

Missouri wouldn’t let them near the stoves and told them to stay out of cooks’ way. They understood the joke in that a minute later, when it turned out that the kitchen staff consisted of her, and a gruff old guy by the name of Rufus. Finding Rufus in the back of the kitchen was a startling experience, since Dean and Castiel had been coming to _Missouri’s Kitchen_ for six years now, and neither of them had ever seen or heard a peep from him. It seemed that Rufus liked to hide in the back and let Missouri do all the talking. (Rufus’s existence also explained why the quality of food varied so much, as Dean saw Rufus hide a bottle underneath the sink just when they stepped in.)

“Hm,” Rufus grumbled when Missouri introduced Dean and Castiel. “As long as you don’t mess up my cooking…”

“Ignore the grump, boys,” Missouri said. “You’re on dish duty.” Seeing their falling faces, she laughed. “What? Gotta start somewhere, and you’re too young to cook, and I ain’t letting you serve the tables just yet.”

Even if Dean was disappointed at first – and he could sense the same disappointment coming off of Cas – he shrug it off quickly, deciding to do his best. Missouri’s place was so old-fashioned that it only had one dishwasher that was very slow, and was only used to clean up the pots and pans. Everything else had to be washed by hand. Dean and Castiel shared a look when they saw just how many forks, spoons, cups, plates, and bowls there were. Quickly, they established a system: Castiel took the first washing turn, while Dean went around to collect dirty dishes from the dining room. Some of the regulars were amused by Dean being the busboy and attempted to talk to him, but mostly, people let him to do his job.

At some point, Dean and Castiel switched, with Castiel going to fetch the dirty dishes and Dean staying in the kitchen to wash them. Rufus stared after Castiel, his hard look becoming even harder when he saw the way Castiel’s wings knocked against the kitchen door as he went out.

“…That really wise?” Rufus asked. His gruff voice made Dean startle.

“What?”

“That angel boy’s gonna knock everything down,” Rufus grumbled. Like always, Dean felt annoyed when people talked about Cas’s angelical side with disdain, but this time, he didn’t let it slide.

“Cas controls his wings better than you control your drinking,” Dean snapped. He held Rufus’s angry gaze, and was surprised when Rufus laughed.

“Bobby was right. You _are_ becoming a man,” he said. Dean blinked, not really understanding what had happened, and was still staring when Rufus laughed to himself and went back to frying a fish.

Washing the dishes was harder work than Dean had imagined, but he threw himself into it, keeping in mind that he owed Missouri a lot of clean plates. Cas kept bringing him piles of dishes, one after another, and despite Rufus’s grumblings, his wings stayed out of the way and hit nothing on his way in and out.

It was the third round of gathering dishes when they got into trouble. Thankfully, Rufus wasn’t there to witness it, as he had slipped away from the kitchen (presumably to have a smoke in the backyard). Dean had noticed before that there was soapy water on the floor, but he hadn’t really considered it to be a problem. That was until Castiel entered the kitchen with a huge amount of plates, plenty of leftover food on top of them, and Dean moved backwards to give him space to put the plates down.

Dean, like a good old cliché, slipped on the soapy water, and tried to correct his posture in vain by grabbing a hold of the counter. When his fingers slipped from the counter, Castiel rushed to catch him, and instinctively, Dean grabbed a hold of Cas, making all the plates tip over. They both fell down on their asses, and all the plates fell from Castiel’s hold, smashing on the floor, and all the leftover spaghetti fell right on top of them. It was everywhere: in Dean’s lap, in his hair, and since Castiel had caught Dean in order to cushion his fall, it was also in Cas’s hair. In his attempt to protect Dean, Castiel had spread his wings wide, and as they sat on the floor, both a little confused and all slimy from the spaghetti, Castiel’s wings kept flapping against the ground and getting dirt on them. Dean couldn’t help a snort when he noticed that.

“Dude, your wings… You look ridiculous,” Dean laughed. There was spaghetti on Cas’s wings, as well as something oily-looking, probably from the frying stove. Castiel’s wings kept spasming, in order to shake off the dirt, which only made the mess worse.

“You don’t look very smart, yourself,” Castiel countered with a laugh. He flapped a dirty wing against Dean’s face, prompting another laugh out of Dean. Dean retorted by pushing Castiel in the face, which only made Cas grin and hit Dean in the face with both of his wings.

Dean’s stomach gave a strange flutter at Castiel’s smile. He stared at Cas’s grin, wondering why he’d never noticed the way it made Castiel glow before. His heart started to beat faster when he realized this, and it was hard to focus for a while.

What was wrong with his heart?

“What have you done to my kitchen?” Missouri yelled, startling them both. She took in the mess, but Dean and Cas couldn’t stop giggling even as she looked sternly at them. “Boys! Feathers off the floor and get a-moppin’! And what did I tell you about smashing my plates?”

Miraculously, Missouri didn’t fire them. She made them clean up the mess, and then showed them better ways to move in the kitchen, what to watch out for, and what not to do in the small space. By the time the summer was over, Dean and Castiel were both competent busboys and dishwashers, and Rufus had even started to gruffly show them his tricks: how to slice vegetables effectively, how to tell that chicken was cooked, and so on. It was one of the best summer vacations Dean had ever had, even with the amount of smashed plates, burnt food, Rufus’s grumbling, and Missouri’s yelling – because he shared it with Castiel.

Dean put the mop down and took another look around the room, now having cleaned it. Some spider webs still clung to the corners, and the room was depressingly empty, but you couldn’t remove the memories attached to the space. Dean had wanted the place for himself for a long time, wanted to own the place where he and Cas had grown up.

And now it was his space, his restaurant, his home. Dean smiled as he looked around the room.

 

* * *

 

Dean wasn’t quite sure when he’d actually fallen in love with his best friend, but he distinctively remembered the moment when he’d realized that. He was sixteen and Castiel was eighteen. They were in Cas’s room, as they so often were, doing their homework, when Dean had spotted an envelope on Cas’s table.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Cas wordlessly took the envelope and showed it to him, and the second Dean saw the seal on it, he felt his heart plummet to his stomach. It was from Miketh University, and judging by the thickness of the envelope, it wasn’t a rejection letter. Castiel had mentioned Miketh several times before, as it was the only university in the country that had been founded by angels and was still around. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise to Dean that Cas had applied there.

“I got this yesterday,” Cas said, his mouth curling into that certain loopy smile that Dean had spent a little too much memorizing. “I got accepted!”

“You—you’re going to Miketh?” Dean didn’t know why he was surprised – Castiel’s grades were excellent, and he could’ve waltzed into any school he chose. Miketh would’ve been foolish to not accept him.

“Isn’t it great?” Cas asked, still smiling and showing the letter like nothing was wrong. His beautiful wings fluttered with excitement, the outer feathers curling upwards proudly, revealing the complex blue patterns. Dean usually loved to take any chance he could to track the patterns, but this time, he was too distracted to do that.

“But it’s out of town,” Dean said. “It’s out of state!”

“Yeah,” Cas said, lowering the envelope. “But it’s the only college where I can major in Enochian.”

“Enochian?” Dean repeated weakly. “Why do you wanna study that? You already speak that!”

“I want to study linguistics. Philology, anything like that,” Cas said. “Maybe other languages, too.”

“You couldn’t have picked Japanese and went to community college here?” Dean tried to joke.

Cas frowned. “Dean, why does this matter? If you want to go to college, you _have_ to leave Riverside. And if you want to go to a good college, you have to go out of state, too.”

Dean couldn’t answer, because he didn’t know why he was so devastated when he thought about Cas leaving for college. Cas was right; two years from now, Dean would probably leave for college as well, and it would most probably be out of state. Some of his other friends were older like Cas and were leaving this year, too. Ash had already left a year earlier, and Dean had just wished him luck and made him promise that they’d keep in touch, and they had. Ash regularly called and visited when he could, and that was fine. Victor was also leaving this year, as was Garth, and Dean hadn’t even thought about them up until now. It hadn’t even occurred to him to be upset about them leaving, because he was certain they’d keep in touch and would see each other again.

With Cas, he wasn’t so sure.

“I know that,” Dean said, annoyed. “It’s just…You’re gonna be so far away.”

“You can visit me,” Cas assured him. “And I’ll be back on holidays. It’s going to be fine, Dean.”

 _It won’t_ , Dean thought to himself. Nothing was fine if Cas was that far away from him. He didn’t want Cas to leave him.

That’s when it hit him. Looking at Cas’s face, his small, quirky smile, and thinking how much he was going to miss that face, Dean felt as if he was hit on the head with a baseball bat.

 _Oh,_ was all Dean thought. Just a simple “oh,” and that was it.

 _Oh_.

Dean forced himself to smile and concentrated on thinking about anything else but the staccato beat his heart was hammering.

“You’re gonna have a farewell party, right?” he asked.

Realizing that he was in love with his best friend wasn’t the end of it, naturally. It was hardly the beginning – Cas went away for college, and Dean had two years to keep his mouth firmly shut and convince himself that he had been wrong, that he was just devastated that his best friend wasn’t there 24/7 like he was used to, that he didn’t want to kiss Cas, that when he thought about the future, Cas _wasn’t_ always there by his side.

A part of that denial crumbled to pieces when Dean graduated and got accepted into college. Not knowing why exactly, he’d applied to a college in the same city as Castiel’s, and to his surprise, he’d been accepted. Castiel was elated when he told the news, because as Cas reasoned, they could share an apartment together and save money that way. Dean was hesitant at first, thinking that they wouldn’t get along as roommates, but since he wanted to save as much money as he could – Ellen and Bobby weren’t exactly rich, and Dean already felt bad about taking so much of their savings for his tuition fees – he accepted Castiel’s suggestion. They found a small shoebox of an apartment that was situated in an easy distance from both colleges, and Castiel handled everything when it came to signing the lease and talking to the landlord. Dean didn’t have to do anything, and he hadn’t even seen the apartment before it was time to move there at the fall.

Dean had seen Castiel occasionally during those two years when Cas had been attending college and Dean had been stuck in Riverside, but that had only been during holidays. They’d stayed in touch via phones, emails, and tried every messenger system they could, but it wasn’t the same as spending time together for real. Dean was, for the lack of a better word, _nervous_ , when it was time for him to step on a plane and fly to his new home of the next four years. Castiel hadn’t come back to their little town this summer, since he had been busy with obtaining their new apartment and had found a job in a bookstore nearby, and so, Dean hadn’t actually seen Cas since Christmas, in six months.

Just the plane ride made his stomach churn, for more reasons than one, and by the time he stepped off the plane, he was a nervous wreck. It felt like his feet wouldn’t carry him, and Dean took a few steadying breaths as he collected his bag.

It all went away the second Dean spotted Castiel in the lobby. He relaxed, answered Cas’s blinding smile, and carelessly dropped his bag on the floor when Cas rushed towards him. For once, Castiel didn’t bother with wing etiquette and didn’t flatten the wings against his back as he rushed through the crowd, and people glared at him as a black mass of feathers bumped into them. That only made Dean grin wider.

“Dean!” Cas yelled. He pulled Dean into a tight hug, his wings crashing against Dean’s back and pulling him forward. Dean had always loved how Cas hugged with his whole body, wings included, and how he felt so safe in Cas’s arms. It was an intimate gesture that Cas didn’t show to everyone, so being wrapped up in his wings, cradled in them, really, was a startling experience. Dean clung to Cas as closely as he could, and enjoyed the flutter of feathers against his back and face.

 

 

Being in Castiel’s embrace again, Dean realized that his feelings hadn’t disappeared anywhere. They hadn’t even diminished – he was still in love with Cas, so much so that he felt like he was walking on air when Cas finally let him go.

 _Oh shit_ , Dean thought.

“How was your trip?” Cas asked, and Dean was momentarily distracted by his eyes. Had they always been that particular shade of blue, or was Dean just now noticing it?

“Terrible,” Dean said. “Better now that you’re here,” he quipped, making Castiel laugh and nudge his shoulder with a wing.

The worst thing was, Dean meant it. He just didn’t know how to voice that to Cas.

The breaking point came when Dean was twenty and Castiel was twenty-two, five years ago. Dean was visiting his hometown during summer break, happy to spend time with Castiel again. Cas had just graduated, and Dean dreaded the two years he still had to go through in college without Cas as his roommate. Cas had assured him that it would do Dean good to get a human roommate, for a change. (“Aren’t you bored of me molting all over the place yet?” Cas had once asked him, and Dean couldn’t say that he collected Cas’s feathers and kept the ones with the best patterns. Dean didn’t want another roommate – he wanted Cas to stay with him.) Dean was trying to enjoy every moment of the summer he could with Cas, and to celebrate their return to Riverside, they’d naturally gone to _Missouri’s Kitchen_ to eat.

Only, this time, the food wasn’t as great as either of them remembered.

“Missouri’s lost her recipes, I think,” Castiel commented. He valiantly kept his wings up, even if Dean could see the slight tremble in them. Cas was itching to droop his wings in disgust, but out of politeness, he struggled to keep them up to signal happiness and excitement. Missouri might have been out of hearing range, but she could still see them from behind the counter.

“I think she’s lost a lot more than just her recipes,” Dean said. He put his fork down and pushed the plate away from him, not wanting to force another bite down. “Or then Rufus started to drink on the job again.”

“Rufus quit two years ago. We were at his retirement party.”

“I know, Cas. I was just kidding.”

Cas shot him a look that said, “that wasn’t funny in the slightest,” and Dean rolled his eyes. As the son of the sadly obligatory town drunk, Dean figured that he had the right to joke about it. Sometimes, joking around was the only way he could deal with the fact that his father was still drowning his sorrows whatever he could get his hands on, and it hurt to see anyone else in the same state.

“She needs someone to look after this place,” Cas said.

“Maybe, yeah,” Dean snorted. “Man, I love her, but she’s lost her touch.”

Cas glanced at the direction of the kitchen. Missouri was sitting by the counter, looking a lot more tired than she used to. She was still smiling and talking to the customers as always, but it looked like she had sat down to have fun with her friends, instead of running a business.

“She’s not that young anymore,” Cas mused.

“Missouri?” Dean asked. “Don’t be like that. She’s not dying, dude.”

“No, but she’s getting tired,” Cas continued, a strange glow in his eyes. Sometimes, he did that: stared at someone, analyzed them, eyes glossed over like he was seeing right into their souls.

“You may have a point,” Dean said, looking down at his wet and tasteless pasta. “You know, I can cook better than this. _We_ could run this place better than her.”

“That’s true. We broke too many plates in that kitchen to not learn something,” Cas said. “Better not let her hear you say that, though.”

“What, I have you to defend my honor,” Dean joked with a smile, and Cas answered with a small grin. His expressions were as miniscule as always, but Dean had known Cas for so long that he could easily tell the difference between his uncontained joy and a fake, small smile.

“Against Crowley’s dogs, sure. Against Missouri, never,” Cas said. For some reason, Dean’s heart clenched. He stared at Cas’s smile, and wanted to get lost in the gentleness of it.

“What a crappy best friend you are,” Dean said, trying to shake off his odd thoughts. “And those weren’t dogs, they were hounds from hell.”

“Missouri’s wrath is hardly in the same category.”

“Well, duh. She’d flatten me before Crowley’s hellhounds could even catch me.”

“Exactly,” Cas said, “It’s not worth to die for.”

“Wow, so that’s how much you care about me?”

“I care about you a lot, Dean, but not _that_ much,” Castiel joked, and Dean returned his grin.

“Love you too, sweetheart,” Dean joked. Then his heart clenched with coldness, because he realized how much he wanted to say those words and mean them. Castiel was only joking around, and he was joking right back, he knew that – but he wanted to mean it. He wanted to tell Cas that he loved him, and he wanted it to _mean_ something.

 _I need to tell him_ , Dean realized. He needed to tell Cas, because the sooner he did that, the sooner he would be released from that constant pressure around his heart. It was a good pressure, occasionally – when Cas did something stupid like got sauce on his nose and Dean laughed at him, his heart glowed and he felt weightless – but sometimes, it felt more like a cold, hard hand crushing his lungs and making it hard to breathe. Maybe, if he told Cas, the weight would be replaced with that glow all the time, instead of just sometimes.

However, Dean couldn’t just tell something like that to Cas without preparations. Cas deserved better; he had just graduated and against all reason, he’d come back to their little town. Cas said that it was because he could do translation work almost anywhere, but Dean sometimes caught the longing in Castiel’s eyes. It was clear to Dean that Cas wanted something bigger – no, he _deserved_ something bigger and better than staying in their tiny town. Dean couldn’t ask, because the answer would break his heart, but maybe Cas wanted to travel, maybe he wanted to find a partner, maybe he wanted to start a family…all things that Dean felt he couldn’t offer. He was afraid of flying, so flying anywhere farther than one hour was out of the question; he was just plain old Dean and would be a crappy partner for Cas, and they were too young to adopt, if it came down to that. Dean felt that if he wanted to convince Cas to stay, if he wanted to convince Cas to be his, he had to offer Cas _something_ in exchange for staying in their sleepy little town with unremarkable, plain, uninteresting Dean.

It was only a fleeting thought at first, a joke that floated into Dean’s head when Cas complained about Missouri losing her touch, but when Missouri closed down the restaurant later that year, the thought came back to haunt him.

He and Cas had practically grown up there. They’d been children doodling under the tables, they’d been teenagers trying to learn responsibility by working in the kitchen, and they’d been young adults mulling through their drama by sitting at the bar counter. If Dean bought the place and opened a new, better restaurant there, Cas and he could have a life together in Riverside. Cas could do his translation work, and Dean could put his business degree to good use. They could live above the restaurant, maybe even start a family there…

And maybe restoring the place to its former glory would convince Cas that Dean was being serious about this. Maybe that could be his wedding present to Cas. Maybe that would convince Cas to stay with Dean.

It was, of course, an absurdly romantic and convoluted plan, but Dean latched onto that. He didn’t believe Cas should settle for anything less, and because Dean had nothing else to offer, he worked his ass off to get his degree and worked on his plans for his – _their_ – restaurant meticulously. Even with Missouri’s generous offer, Dean couldn’t buy the place straight out of college, because he was broke and had no experience on how to run things. Instead, he bided his time, working tirelessly for two years, saving every cent he got, and working through two different jobs to get experience on how to actually run a restaurant, and how to budget things. It was a hard time, but as he now stood in the middle of the empty dining hall, he didn’t regret any step he’d had to take along the way.

Dean couldn’t wait to show this all to Cas.

 

* * *

 

The clock had struck eight by the time Dean finished up cleaning. It had gotten dark outside, but the summer evening was still nicely warm. Dean stood in the driveway of the house for a few moments, looking at the place and smiling to himself.

One day down, and who knew how many more there were to come.

Unable to wait, Dean left to tell Cas the news. The trip from the restaurant to Cas’s house took only five minutes by car, and Dean could’ve easily walked, but he was too anxious. He had finally concluded part one of his plan, and now it was time to proceed to part two.

Dean had been planning on confessing to Cas for a long time, but even now, when he’d reached this stage of his (“Absurd,” Sam had said) plan, Dean had no idea what to say to Cas. Dean suspected that he’d been in love with his best friend even when he was six and too young to know what the word truly meant, but as time had gone by, his feelings hadn’t vanished, but rather, they’d continued to grow, and nowadays, Dean couldn’t imagine a time when he hadn’t been in love with Cas. That knowledge didn’t make it any easier to put it into _words_ – it would’ve been so much easier if Dean could’ve just transferred every feeling he had directly into Cas’s brain.

But he’d waited for so long. He’d planned this, even if part two of his plan was to (heh) wing it. He was ready, now. He was finally ready, and this was going to be it. He was going to tell Cas everything. Maybe he was being (“Idiotic,” Jo had said) hasty, and maybe his other friends thought that he was acting (“Irrationally,” Charlie had said) weird, but there was nothing irrational about love, in Dean’s opinion. He just couldn’t wait to start a life together with Cas, living in their own apartment and managing their own business.

Dean repeated that in his mind, and smiled. He couldn’t wait to start a life together with Cas.

Dean was practically vibrating when he rang Cas’s doorbell. He swung on the balls of his feet, back and forth, before forcing himself to stop and take a breath. He was nervous, but it was the good kind of nervous – he’d finally get to say Cas the words that had been echoing in his mind for years and years. He’d finally be able to tell Cas what he really meant to Dean, and he couldn’t wait to see what Cas would think about his plans to restore the restaurant. Cas had always been better at long-term planning than Dean, since he had more patience and was able to predict so many variables that Dean wouldn’t even consider. If Cas approved of his plan, no one else’s opinion would matter.

Castiel still lived with his parents and siblings in the same house he had always lived. Despite grumbling about it occasionally, it didn’t look like Cas was going to move out any time soon. The house had remained unchanged during the years; the paint was new, as Castiel’s older brother Michael had gotten tired of the blue paint a few years back and re-painted the whole house red, but other than that, everything looked just like it had when Dean had been six and visited Cas for the first time. The grass was just as overgrown as ever, because the weird-ass family of Aaetpio liked to walk in it in bare feet, and apparently it felt better that way. In a way, it was almost soothing how nothing had changed during the years.

Dean had calmed down by the time Cas came to open the door. He didn’t look surprised at seeing Dean, even if it was after eight in the evening. Instead, he smiled and opened the door wider.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said. He lifted his wings, and delighted, Dean leaned forward. He secretly loved the way Cas would greet him with his wings, even if everyone else found it weird. (“Personal space, guys,” Cas’s brother Gabriel had once commented to them, looking nauseated.) The tips of Cas’s wings touched his shoulders, curling around him as if in a tiny hug. Dean grinned back, as he always did.

 

 

“Hi, Cas. Listen, I have something big to tell you,” Dean said.

“So do I,” Cas said. The small smile he wore tugged at Dean’s heart, and he found himself smiling back. Whatever Cas would say, it couldn’t be as big a surprise – he’d probably tell he was getting a hamster or something. Cas had always loved animals, even ones that most people (“ _People_ ,” Cas had stressed) didn’t like, such as reptiles and spiders.

“Go on. C’mon, you first,” Dean said, nudging Cas when he dropped his wings.

“My _paracleda_ will be next month,” Cas said.

At first, Dean didn’t comprehend a word of that. Then, from the back of his brain, a small voice whispered the meaning of the word, a ceremony Cas had mentioned before but that Dean had pushed aside, because when he’d thought of getting married to Cas, he’d thought they’d do it with human customs. There was no way he would be getting married in a robe (“It’s called an alb, Dean,” Cas had corrected him time and time again, half frustrated and half amused), when there was the alternative of seeing Cas in a suit.

And that was when all of Dean’s fantasies came to a screeching halt. Dean stared at Cas, dumbfounded.

“Your…marriage?” Dean repeated. “You’re getting married?”

“Well…”

“You’re getting _married_?” Dean asked again, uncomprehending.

Cas thought about this for a moment. “I suppose ‘marriage’ would be the English equivalent of _paracleda_.”

Dean couldn’t say anything for a long, long while. All the words that he’d practiced in his head for so long, every single thing that he’d planned on telling Cas, every single word of adoration he’d wanted to whisper in Cas’s ear…they all shriveled up and died.

Cas was getting married, but he wasn’t getting married to Dean.


	2. Part II

Although Dean couldn’t remember it clearly – the trauma had been too much and he’d erased most of it from his mind – Dean knew, logically, that his mother’s death was supposedly the most heartbreaking thing that had ever happened to him. In fact, he’d become selectively mute after it for months, so in that sense, it had affected him more than he’d ever realized.

Logically, Dean knew that. But it certainly felt like that particular event couldn’t even compete as the most painful moment of his life. The winner of that category was by and far learning that Cas was getting married to someone else.

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, hoping that Cas wouldn’t notice. “Who’s the lucky person?”

“Anna of the Aspiaon house will be my _paracahe_ ,” Castiel explained, although none of this made any sense to Dean.

“Anna,” Dean repeated. He frowned. He vaguely remembered hearing the name before, and it clicked him after a moment. “Wait, that redheaded angel who moved here last year?”

“Yes. She’s my cousin.”

“She’s your _cousin_?” Dean yelled.

“All angels are related to one another, Dean,” Castiel said, slowly and unbelieving that he had to tell Dean this.

Of course Dean knew that. The angel population had been diminishing for centuries, as they’d been forced to live in the margin, and only twenty thousand angels or so lived in the US. In their little town, there were only fifteen angels in two houses: Cas’s house of Aaetpio and Anna’s house of Aspiaon. If Cas married an angel, it was impossible for him not to marry a relative – if he married a local angel, she was undoubtedly a close relative.

That didn’t make the thought of Cas getting married any more comforting. On the contrary, Dean felt like there was lead in his stomach, pulling him to the ground. Cas had shown little interest in anyone, human or angel, during the years, but Dean had gotten a few hints here and there that he wasn’t opposed to human-angel relationships, at least. Out of the very few crushes that Cas had, had been on humans, but maybe that was only because there were so few angels around. And just because Cas wasn’t opposed to human-angel relationships didn’t mean that he wanted one – and because he was getting married to an angel, it was now confirmed that he truly didn’t want one.

Dean felt like a piece of his heart was ripped away, but he hid his sorrow and forced a bright smile on his face.

“Congrats, man,” Dean managed to say. He hoped his voice didn’t sound as weak as he felt.

“Thank you,” Castiel said. The smile on his face hadn’t diminished one bit, and Dean struggled to return it.

“So, uh, how’d this happen?” Dean asked, because apparently, he wanted to torture himself. And, frankly, he couldn’t believe that he’d missed Castiel and Anna…ugh…courting, dating, or whatever. A little voice in his head told him that he’d been pretty preoccupied with the details of securing the deal with Missouri, getting a loan, and working at Sandover two towns over until last week, when he’d finally quit. He hadn’t actually hung out with Cas as much as he would’ve liked in a few months.

 _Seems I should’ve made more effort_ , Dean thought, bitterly.

“Well, by the recommendation of Dominions, her family came over a few weeks ago,” Castiel said, “and we got to talking. I’ve naturally met her before, but we didn’t have a chance to really talk before that.”

“A few weeks ago,” Dean repeated, a lump in his throat again.

He’d loved Castiel for nineteen years, and Anna of Aspiaon managed to capture Cas’s heart in a few weeks. Dean had never felt so utterly insignificant in his life.

“Yes,” Cas confirmed happily. “After that, we’ve been out a few times. She’s quite fun, and refreshingly smart.”

“Really.” Dean swallowed again. “What…what does she do?”

“She’s a nurse. Actually, it’s brilliant – she’s learning how to apply grace healing at her job.” Castiel looked proud, and under other circumstances, Dean would’ve been, too. Although angels lived among humans, and had been living among them ever since men came down from the trees, the minority status of angels ensured that the world was not equipped for them. Angels had been feared for their strange physical and metaphysical powers, so they’d lived in their own settlements – or had been forced to live in them. Even if they had been granted the same rights as humans nearly three hundred years ago, most people still didn’t know how to deal with angels. Because their population was so small, humans rarely encountered angels in their lives, and when they did, it always lead to confusion: how to deal with their inhuman traits and abilities? Especially strange were traits like grace, which manifested differently in each angel, and obviously, their wings and ability to fly. So for Anna to apply grace to heal in her job – and to convince prejudiced people around her that it could be done safely – was quite a feat.

But Dean couldn’t feel proud. He felt _jealous_ , because there was no way he could compete with that kind of medical wonder. He was just Dean, an ordinary human, with an old, empty house and without a penny to his name.

“That’s, that’s great,” Dean finally said, when he realized that he’d been silent for a bit too long.

“You don’t seem sure,” Castiel commented. Dean couldn’t take the look.

“Just…don’t you think this is going pretty fast?” Dean tried. “You hardly know her!”

“We know each other enough,” Cas protested, frowning a bit.

“It’s just…happening pretty fast,” Dean repeated, lamely.

“Why would my _paracleda_ to Anna matter to you that much?” Cas asked, that certain note in his voice that said, “Dean Winchester, you are being deliberately obtuse and/or annoying.” Dean was very familiar with that tone, having heard it ever since he was six.

“I mean, um…” Dean mumbled. “Of course it doesn’t.”

“You’re still my best friend, Dean. Nothing’s changed,” Cas assured him.

 _That’s the problem in a nutshell_ , Dean wanted to say. He wanted to tell Cas to stop this madness, to cancel the wedding; he wanted to say that Anna wasn’t good enough for Cas, and that if Cas was getting married to anyone, it should be Dean. Because Dean loved him, had loved him for years, and it was completely unfair that just when he was about to confess, Anna of all people swooped in and stole Cas away from him.

But Dean couldn’t do that. Castiel seemed to like Anna, despite how little time they’d spent together, and if his family approved of Anna, there was nothing Dean could do. He couldn’t ruin Cas’s life, he couldn’t say a thing when it was obvious that it would change nothing. Cas had made his choice. He was getting married to Anna, and that was that.

Dean swallowed and managed a little smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Of course nothing’s changed.” Because he felt like it was expected, he asked with a grin, “Do I get to be the best man, then?”

“There are no best men in _paracleda_ ,” Castiel said, looking affronted. “Or, well, I guess you could make the comparison between a best man and _iaiadix_ , but _iaiadix_ are always family.”

“So, um, Gabriel will be…whatchamacallit?”

“ _Iaiadix_ ,” Castiel repeated. “And absolutely not, he can’t be trusted to not mess up the ceremony on purpose. Michael will fulfill that role instead.”

“Good call,” Dean said. Castiel looked happy about that, and though it was an awful thought, that happiness felt bitter to Dean. He tried to think of ways to end the conversation quickly. “Um, so, congrats again.”

Castiel accepted it with a happy nod. “So, what was your big news?”

Dean felt like crying. There was no excitement in telling Cas the news anymore, but it wasn’t like he could keep it a secret from Cas. The population of their small town was barely five thousand people – everyone knew everyone, and sooner or later, someone would let it slip to Cas that Dean had bought Missouri’s place, even if all of their mutual friends (miraculously) kept their mouths shut.

“Uh, it’s actually not that big a deal,” Dean mumbled. “I bought Missouri’s place.”

“You bought _Missouri’s Kitchen_?” Cas asked. His eyes lit up, and ironically, it hurt Dean’s heart to see how excited Castiel was for him. “That’s great, Dean! I always wondered what would happen to it… Are you going to open up a restaurant, or do something else with it?”

“Um,” Dean said, “I was thinking of opening up a restaurant. No definite plans yet.”

“That’s great,” Castiel repeated. “I’m assuming Benny will be your head chef?”

Dean gave a short laugh. “Yeah,” he muttered.

It had been a no-brainer to ask Benny Lafitte, a former high school classmate and friend, to join his enterprise. Benny was a trained chef, and was currently working out of town in a fast-food chain. He’d expressed frustration at his work situation many times, and Dean had thought that if he could offer Benny a job near where he lived, Benny wouldn’t turn it down. Dean had been right: Benny been very enthused about the idea, and had basically designed the menu by himself, with Dean only providing a few helpful ideas. Benny had also helped Dean to finalize some of the plans, as well as convinced Dean to apply for a loan. He’d been a great partner through and through, and more importantly, Benny was still enthused about the idea, Dean reminded himself. Even if half of Dean’s reason for acquiring Missouri’s place was now shattered to pieces, he was still going to open up a restaurant. At some point. Maybe next century, when he’d stopped feeling like a young Werther.

“Um,” Dean said, “It’s getting pretty late, so, uh, I should be heading home.”

“Oh,” Castiel said. His wings drooped a little, but Dean thought that meant tiredness rather than disappointment in this case. “Of course. Could I visit your new restaurant at some point? Maybe tomorrow?”

“Not, not tomorrow,” Dean said. “I, uh, have other things to do.” Then he felt guilty about lying to Cas, and added, “But over, over the weekend. I’ll be there the whole time.”

“I’ll most definitely stop by on Saturday,” Castiel promised. Dean watched as his beautiful wings fluttered in a flurry of blue, and felt torn apart by sadness.

He’d never get to tell Cas how pretty he thought his wings were.

“Okay,” Dean rasped. “Good night, Cas.”

“Night, Dean.”

Dean skipped their usual goodbye hug – same as Cas’s wing greeting, but with more movement – because he didn’t think he could take it right then. He just turned on his heels and fled, ignoring the curious flutter of Castiel’s wings after him.

 

* * *

 

Dean had never dealt easily with disappointments, but he never showed it. Instead of wallowing in his bed and listening to Taylor Swift or something equally clichéd (which he only did for an hour on Friday morning, so it _didn’t_ count), he went to work. It was much easier to do something with his hands than to think with his head, so that’s what he did. Dean was good at that, doing without thinking, and could easily lose himself in cleaning up the upstairs part of the house. Since the house had been abandoned for five years, it was, frankly, disgusting, and there was no amount of soap that would cleanse the wallpaper. Missouri had kept the house in so-so condition, but since it hadn’t been renovated in decades, it was obvious that the age of the house would show.

Dean didn’t stop cleaning up that day, and when his stomach finally reminded him that it was time to take a break, it was already six o’clock in the evening. By that point, Dean had been working for ten hours, and after a short meal (hastily thrown together sandwiches), he resumed the work. It had occurred to Dean somewhere after the third hour that the wallpaper had to be scraped off and replaced, so he started to do that eight at night. He didn’t stop until it was midnight, and exhaustion made him sleep in his car in the parking lot.

Ellen called him the next morning, but Dean ignored it. He knew his adoptive mother would just ask a lot of uncomfortable questions and offer annoying advice, such as, “Why didn’t you come home last night?” and, “You need to talk about it to someone. Don’t shut us out.” Basically, it was just like being a teenager again, and Dean liked to think that he could handle things like this on his own, now, so he ignored Ellen.

He resumed scraping off the wallpaper at seven in the morning, having badly slept for a few hours in the back of his car. He didn’t even stop to have a breakfast, and Dean didn’t realize how manic his state must’ve gotten before Cas showed up at midday.

“I always imagined her wallpaper to be uglier,” Cas commented, appearing out of the blue to Dean’s left. Dean yelped, lost his balance due to crouching on the floor for far too long without changing his posture, and slammed his right shoulder into the wall. From there, Dean fell to his ass, and turned to stare at Castiel with huge eyes.

“What the—Where the fuck did you come from?” Dean asked. “How many times have I told you to wear a bell if you teleport?”

“I didn’t,” Cas said. “I knocked on the front door. And called your name. You didn’t answer.”

“Oh.” Dean rubbed his shoulder; it smarted, but that would pass quicker than the humiliation. “Well, uh, still. Way to be creepy, man.”

“And it’s not teleporting, it’s—”

“Multi-dimensional celestial traveling, yeah, yeah.” Cas gave him a small smile for that, and Dean answered it – it was their own, private joke, the conversation that they’d had hundreds of times. Dean wouldn’t stop calling Cas’s flying ability “teleporting” (or “apparating,” if he wanted Cas to scowl even worse), and Castiel wouldn’t stop correcting him that it wasn’t teleporting in the sci-fi sense. He couldn’t fly anywhere he hadn’t been to already – making it “a useless party trick” in Dean’s words, and “a sensible application of space-time bending,” in Cas’s words.

Cas took a look around the rooms, and although Dean didn’t say it, his heart hammered as he waited for Cas’s judgment. He could breathe more easily when Castiel smiled approvingly.

“It looks just like I imagined it,” Cas said, “And yet, nothing like it.”

“That’s not possible, you know,” Dean said. “How can it look just like you imagined and nothing like it?”

“It does,” Cas said, nodding sagely, but offering nothing more on the subject. His wings fluttered, the cobalt blue dancing in the air as quickly as a hummingbird and forming intricate waves. Dean watched, mesmerized – he’d never tire of looking at Cas’s wings.

Dean’s stomach grumbled just then, and Cas gave him a pointed look. “Have you eaten anything yet?”

“Uh.” Dean actually couldn’t remember. He thought he’d skipped breakfast, and his meal yesterday hadn’t been much anything, either. “I guess not.”

Castiel shook his head. “You need to take better care of yourself,” he muttered. Dean tried not to imagine Cas saying that to Anna, and actually meaning it. “Come on. I brought pizza with me.”

“You’re a lifesaver, man.”

Dean had no idea how Cas had known what he needed, but a pizza and good company was just the thing to remove a bit of his gloom. He and Cas ate downstairs, standing by the bar counter. There weren’t any chairs, so they were forced to stand as they ate, without any utensils, because again, there was nothing in the house, but that hardly mattered to them. Dean might have stared a bit too long when Cas licked his fingers, getting rid of the grease that clung to his fingertips.

“This place hasn’t changed at all,” Cas commented at some point, looking around the hall.

“What’d you expect?” Dean asked.

“A ruin,” Cas replied, and Dean laughed at his deadpan tone.

“It’s been five years since she closed down the place. That’s not enough for even floorboards to rot.”

“Are you certain?” Cas asked, eyeing the floor suspiciously.

“Fuck off,” Dean said, punching Cas lightly in the shoulder. Cas’s wings twitched in a tiny smile. “No matter what Jo says, I did check out this place before I bought it. It’s not about to collapse on me, and I’ll renovate this, anyway. Benny will refuse to even turn on the stove when he notices how old that is. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“That’s good,” Cas nodded. “You should change this. Make it look like your place.”

 _Your_ place. Not _ours_.

Dean pushed the thought away. “It’s gonna take a while, though,” he said instead.

“It will be magnificent, Dean.”

“Only you can use words like ‘magnificent’ and not come off as pompous,” Dean said. He meant “thank you,” and Castiel understood it nonetheless.

“How can I help?” Cas asked after they’d finished the pizza. He didn’t ask, “did you need any help?” or “can I help with something?” – he’d decided to help and wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was so undeniably a Cas-like thing to do that Dean smiled, unable to refuse.

Together, they started to scrape off the old wallpaper upstairs, and this time, the work wasn’t as tedious as it had been for Dean in the morning. Castiel always treated everything he did with silent concentration, even if the task was to feed a kitten, and Dean hid a grin as he watched Castiel crouching on the floor, frowning at the paper. His wings were half-resting against the floor, relaxed, but few stray feathers still managed to escape at the top, making them look unruly. It might’ve been alarming how much time Dean spent (and had spent) staring at Cas’s wings during his life.

They’d been working for two hours, quietly conversing at times, before Dean remembered to say, “Thanks for helping out.”

“Of course,” Cas said, like it wasn’t a big deal. It probably wasn’t, not to an angel; their physical strength and stamina were in a different league compared to humans. Dean still remembered the time they’d ran a Cooper’s test at high school P.E. class. While everyone else had been wheezing and collapsing by the time the clock had stopped, Castiel had ran ten times more than anyone and yet, had asked, confused, “Are we stopping, already?”

“Jo said that you wanted to move in here,” Castiel continued. “Of course I’ll help you with your new home.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, after a pause. He couldn’t risk saying anything else, in fear of his voice betraying how he really felt. Cas was cleaning up the space like nothing was wrong, but in Cas’s mind, it was going to be Dean’s place – not theirs. Not their new home. Not their shared space. Just Dean’s.

They continued to work in silence, which was a good thing, because Dean’s mood had soured again, and even laughing at the scraps of paper that got stuck in Cas’s wings didn’t make him feel better.

 

* * *

 

Two days after helping Dean clean up his new home, Castiel called him. Dean eyed his cell phone warily, before accepting the call. It was Monday, and while Dean was currently unemployed, hopeless, and lonely, he knew that Cas was working as usual. Of course, Castiel’s work was a little different compared to most people: he could choose his own hours and work from his house, without even leaving his bed, if he wanted to. Dean had once or twice went over to Cas’s house only to find him in his pajamas, laptop balanced over his knees and deep in concentration, even when it was three o’clock during the day. Or at night – it seemed to make no difference for Cas. He worked when the inspiration struck, even if it seemed to be an unconventional time for others.

“Hi, Cas,” Dean greeted. “Is your work that boring?”

“Definitely not,” Castiel said, in lieu of a greeting. “I’m actually in the middle of translating a manuscript from the 14th century, and it’s—”

“Okay, okay. I don’t need a history lesson. Your work rocks, I know.”

“Wouldn’t that apply more to a geologist?” Castiel asked, and Dean groaned. He just knew what Cas looked right now: a little self-satisfied smirk on his face, his wings twitching with amusement.

“Funny,” Dean said. “So, anyway, what’s up?”

“Would you come over tomorrow?” Cas asked him.

“Uh,” Dean said, his mind blanking for a minute. He had wanted to spend a little time on his own, but there was no way he could say no to Cas. “Sure? What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion.”

“Right. Because you haven’t actually invited me over in a decade.”

“That’s because you usually show up, whether or not I want you to,” Castiel deadpanned. “Fine. I’d like you to meet Anna.”

Dean’s heart clenched. He’d known it would come to this, sooner or later, but he’d hoped for “later.” If he were lucky, it would turn to “never.”

“You want me to hang out with Anna?” Dean asked, carefully.

“You’ll like her,” Castiel promised. Dean wasn’t so sure about that. “She’s charming, smart, and just your type. Well, if your type were angels.”

Dean gave a hollow laugh at that. “Are you trying to set me up with your girl?”

“Hardly,” Castiel snorted. “But Dean, I’m sure you’ll like her.”

Even if Dean’s heart was screaming no, he couldn’t stop himself from saying yes. He owed Cas that much. Obviously, it was impossible for Dean to ignore Anna’s existence in the long run, because no matter what, he wouldn’t stop being Cas’s friend, and running into Castiel’s _fiancée_ was inevitable.

Dean had just hoped he’d had a little more time to deal with the mess that was his feelings, before being thrust into this.

Dean couldn’t put much effort into working on the restaurant after that call, but he went through the motions nonetheless. At least it gave him something to do, instead of wallowing. He was in the middle of scrubbing off the last pieces of old wallpaper from upstairs when Benny showed up.

“Looking good, brother,” Benny smiled as he looked around the room. They’d been friends since high school, and Dean had known Benny long enough to know that when Benny said something, he meant it. The empty room didn’t look that impressive to Dean, but if Benny said he saw potential in it, he did.

“Thanks,” Dean said, feeling a bit better. Benny caught his subdued attitude and gave him a worried glance.

“Something wrong, Dean?”

“Not really,” Dean said. He put the tools down, deciding to take a break. He’d been standing and working for hours at this point, anyway. Forcefully removing the paper had made him feel a tiny bit better, or at least he told himself it had.

“Right,” Benny said, unbelieving. “How long have you been at that?” he asked, pointing at the wallpaper.

“I don’t remember,” Dean said, honest.

“Time for a break, then.” Benny slapped his back, leading Dean to the stairs. “I brought something with me.”

“Beer?”

Benny barked a laugh. “Well, that too, but something business-related, as well.”

Benny had spread out a collection of kitchen utensils on the counter downstairs. It looked like he’d brought everything that would be usable in a kitchen, and Dean couldn’t help but smile at the way the kitchen knives were arranged on the counter, from smallest to biggest.

“You’re really looking forward to working here, aren’t you?” Dean asked.

“‘Course.” Benny nodded at the kitchen. “Provided that thing isn’t a health hazard.”

“Uh. I wouldn’t recommend putting your knives in there yet, in that case.”

“As long as you’ll clean it before we start,” Benny grinned, and Dean tried to answer the grin. It apparently didn’t work, because Benny frowned.

“Dean, seriously, are you okay?” Benny asked.

“Fine.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Dean was silent for a moment. He could say something else, cite his lack of sleep, but he was tired of keeping everything inside.

“Cas wants me to meet Anna,” Dean said finally.

Benny didn’t react exactly as Dean had hoped. “She’s really nice. You’ll like her.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Dean snapped. Seeing the look on Benny’s face, he caught himself. “I mean—”

“I get it, you’re suspicious of her,” Benny said. “But angel culture is…different. I wouldn’t do a thing just because someone told me to uproot everything and move to a small-ass town with only one other family like me, but, that’s angels for you. Dominions tell them to do that, and they do. They gotta have protocols, some kind of system to ensure two houses get along.”

Everything Benny said was true, but Dean still found it hard to swallow. He’d never understood why Castiel’s family followed the orders of Dominions without a question, even when they seemed to be nonsensical, but there was a hierarchy in angel society that simply had to be followed. Cas had once told him that Dominions were supposed to look after their well-being, and apparently, that meant that Dominions would tell them where to live, who to interact with, and now, who to marry. Dominions weren’t even in the highest hierarchical position – they just had the final say in everyday matters, and that was creepy enough for Dean.

“I just don’t like it,” Dean said.

Benny shrugged. “They seem to be doing fine. Besides, you know Cas. He wouldn’t do something just because he’s told to.”

It should’ve brought comfort to Dean, because it was true, but instead, it twisted his heart painfully. Even if Castiel held a respect for his culture’s customs, Dean had also witnessed him outright rebel against some of the stipulations, and even refuse to partake in some. If Cas didn’t deem something worth doing, he didn’t do it – simple as that.

Getting married to Anna, well, that seemed to be worth doing, even if it was issued from above.

“Yeah,” Dean finally said, when Benny gave him an odd look, “You’re right. He wouldn’t do something he didn’t want to do.”

 

* * *

 

In spite of his hesitations, Dean went to Castiel’s house the following evening. Talking with Cas’s family calmed him down somewhat, because as weird bunch as Cas’s brothers and sisters were, they were also entertaining, and had known Dean since childhood. It was pretty funny how different everyone in the family was, given that they’d all grown under the strict eye of their mother Naomi. Michael was the dutiful son, always wanting to do the right thing, while Gabriel was the prankster of the family, always getting in trouble. Castiel was the middle child, with his sisters Hester and Hannah being the youngest. While there was another member of their house, the family didn’t talk about Michael’s twin Lucifer, who’d ran off years earlier. Dean had heard Castiel mention him only once or twice, and he’d gotten the impression that Lucifer was not to be mentioned to Naomi under any circumstances.

Castiel's father wasn’t around, and hadn’t been for as long as Dean had known him. Dean suspected that Cas didn’t know who his father was, but as Cas never mentioned the subject, Dean didn’t want to probe. Nonetheless, he felt strange camaraderie with Cas over this, as his father had left, too. The only difference was that Dean, unfortunately, knew exactly where his father was, but couldn’t do a thing about it. Besides, after Bobby Singer had married Ellen and moved in with her when Dean was ten, Bobby had been more of a father to him than anyone. He wasn’t a relative by blood, but as Dean had noticed from an early age, blood ties hardly mattered to the heart.

When Dean arrived, Castiel’s house was full of chatter and life, as per usual. Hannah and Hester were quieter than the rest of the family, but Gabriel could conjure up a party just by himself. Michael, while he usually tried to resist “being silly” as he called Gabriel’s antics, would inevitably get caught up in them, much to Naomi’s irritation. As well as being the middle child, Castiel fell funnily in the middle of these personalities, too: he sometimes joined forces with Gabriel in order to irritate his mother, but just as well he could be seen quietly conversing with his sisters.

This time was no exception: Castiel was talking with Hannah, when Dean entered, and Gabriel immediately swooped him into a hug. Like Castiel, Gabriel tended to hug with his wings, but whereas Castiel’s wings were soft and felt _wonderful_ against Dean’s skin, Gabriel’s felt scratchy and irritating. Maybe it had something to do with Gabriel’s personality, or maybe just the texture of his wings was different. Either way, Dean tried to lean away from Gabriel as he gave Dean a hug with both his arms and wings.

“Deano! Long time no see!”

“We met in the supermarket two days ago,” Dean said, struggling against Gabriel’s sharp wings. While Castiel’s black-and-blue wings were breathtaking, in Dean’s opinion, most people would still view Gabriel’s golden wings as more beautiful. But just because the color was deep, shiny, and his wingspan was huge, it didn’t make them feel any less prickly, and therefore, Dean didn’t like them as much. Gabriel’s wings looked golden, but they felt like steel wool.

“And I’ve missed you ever since,” Gabriel said, puckering his lips in a ridiculous manner. Dean snorted and pushed Gabriel away from him.

“As if,” Dean said. He glanced towards the living room, where the rest of the family was. Gabriel’s huge wings blocked out most of the view, but Dean still caught a glimpse of Castiel, talking with Hannah and now with a red-haired, red-winged angel who must’ve been Anna.

“Still hopelessly in love with my clueless little bro?” Gabriel asked, startling Dean. Normally, Dean would’ve denied it with a laugh or a rude comment, because Gabriel had been joking about the subject for years. But this time, Dean couldn’t manage it. There was nothing to deny.

Gabriel’s eyes widened briefly in confusion, before settling to understanding. “Oh. I see. You’ve finally caught a clue, and he hasn’t.”

“Shut up,” Dean mumbled.

“Why not confess your undying love to him, then?” Gabriel asked.

“Why not, indeed,” Dean said, bitterly. He didn’t want to mess up Cas’s life, even if he desperately wished that he could go back in time a few months, a few weeks, even a few days. That way, he could at least _try_ to win Cas before Anna of Aspiaon came to mess it all up.

“Wow, still in denial, huh?” Gabriel asked. “Or should I say, Dean-ial?”

“Hilarious.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all evening.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and pushed past Gabriel. The rough texture of his wings irritated Dean even further, but Dean plastered on a smile as he made his way to the living room. On his way in, Michael stopped him.

“Dean, good to see you.”

“You too,” Dean said. He was always a bit wary of Michael, for some reason, before he remembered that Michael was actually a pretty cool guy and not out to spoon his heart out, or something equally awful. Michael just had one of those faces that made him look like a creep – it wasn’t his fault, and the impression melted away when you conversed with him, but it always took time for Dean to remember that.

“How’s the restaurant?” Michael asked. “I heard from Sam that you made an offer to Missouri.”

“It’s great,” Dean lied. “I mean, it’ll take a lot of work, but that’s fine. I’ll get the business running, eventually.”

“I’m sure you will,” Michael said, and he clearly meant it. “Castiel was very excited about it.”

Dean didn’t know what a heart-attack felt like, but he was sure the momentary pain piercing his chest was on par with that.

“He was?” Dean asked. “Um. That’s nice. I mean, if you like mopping floors and renovating houses, then...”

“He mentioned that,” Michael said. “Oh, before I forget: Anna’s brother is great at construction. He’s experimented with using grace to do that.”

“You can do that?” Dean asked, impressed in spite of himself.

“Samandriel can,” Michael nodded. “I’m sure he’ll help you out, if you ask him. He’s been looking for excuses to work on something that big for a while. He wants to try out his powers.”

“Thanks, I will,” Dean said, even if he had no intention of doing so. He didn’t think he could spend any time together with any person close to Anna, even if his situation was in no way Samandriel’s fault.

Dean eventually relaxed as he talked with Michael, and was even starting to enjoy himself. It didn’t felt impossible when he finally entered the living room to greet Cas and Anna.

Cas was glowing, there was no other way to put it. He looked happy, and that alone made Dean feel a bit better about Anna. His wings were shining, the blue color looking even more striking against the black than usual, and unless Dean knew that it was impossible, he could’ve sworn he saw a little movement in the lines, like they were rolling back and forth.

“Dean,” Castiel said, warmly. He tipped his wings forward, and Dean let him give him a tiny wing-hug, before stepping away. He could feel Anna’s eyes on him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dean asked. He didn’t want to, but Castiel had asked him, so there he was.

“You’re busy with your restaurant,” Cas said, and Dean wanted to correct him, “It’s supposed to be ours.” Of course, he couldn’t do that, and luckily, a certain red-haired angel distracted him just then.

Anna’s wings were bright red, just like her hair, but up close, Dean could see tiny golden lines interwoven in the wings. He had to admit that her wings looked amazing, and the contrast when she stood by Cas’s black wings was startling.

They looked good together, Dean grudgingly admitted to himself.

Dean wanted to hate her. He wanted to despise her for taking Cas away, for ruining all of his plans, for forcing him to put a stop to all of his dreams. It just wasn’t fair how Dean had finally gotten over himself, how he’d prepared, and how he’d finally been ready, only for Anna to appear out of nowhere and sweep it all away, without even knowing it.

Dean wanted to hate her, but the second Anna smiled at him and shook his hand, he knew it was futile.

“Anael,” she said, “but please, call me Anna. Even my mom doesn’t call me Anael anymore.”

“I’m Dean Winchester.”

“I know,” Anna said, a twinkle in her eye. “Castiel talks a lot about you. He’s told me all about your childhood.”

Dean’s heart leaped at that, before he cruelly stomped it down. Of course Cas would talk about him to Anna – they were best friends, and had been friends for years. It was essential that Cas’s fiancée got to know his friends. Castiel looked suitably embarrassed about Anna’s admission.

“I guess you know all the embarrassing tales, then.”

“Just the moderately embarrassing ones,” Anna said, again with that fun twinkle in her eye, and Dean just couldn’t hate her. She was pretty, she was polite, and she was surprisingly charming. In another world and another situation where he wasn’t melodramatically pining after his best friend, Dean might’ve been attracted to her. In a horrible twist, Castiel had been exactly right: Dean did like her.

“Well, maybe I can balance it out by telling embarrassing stories about Cas,” Dean said.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Castiel protested, but his wings twitched, clearly signaling that it was a bald-faced lie. Anna and Dean both saw that, and glanced at each other, grinning.

“So the time you tried to fly for the first time and crash-landed in a tree wouldn’t count?”

“It was a bush, and I was ten,” Cas said. He didn’t look embarrassed, though, even when Anna giggled at him.

“You learned to fly at ten?” she asked.

“Not everyone can be a prodigy, like Inias,” Castiel muttered.

“He’s a freak of nature,” Anna said, but it didn’t sound unkind. Dean had no idea who Inias was, and being suddenly out of the conversation would have made him feel bad again, if Anna hadn’t turned to him just then and explained, “Inias is my little cousin. He’s three, and he can fly better than I can.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t learn to fly at ten, then?” Dean asked. He didn’t remember what the average age of learning to fly was for angels, but from the context, it clearly wasn’t ten.

“I was six, like most,” Anna said, confirming Dean’s suspicions. “But it’s just like learning to read – it doesn’t matter what age you learn it. Some are naturally better at it than others. Castiel is better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

From that flattery, Dean assumed that Anna must’ve really liked Castiel. It hurt his heart a little, but if Anna was willing to look at Cas with those rose-tinted glasses, they would probably be good together.

“Better than Inias?” Dean teased, making Cas roll his eyes.

“Of course,” Anna said. “Inias is good at physical flying, but I’ve never met anyone who could do space-time flying.”

That threw Dean in a loop. He managed to fumble his way through conversation after that, but when Anna left to get herself a new drink, Dean turned to scowl at Castiel.

“You’re telling me that ‘teleporting’ isn’t a normal thing for you guys?” Dean asked.

“What?”

“So not every angel can ‘apparate’ from room to room like you?”

“It’s not ‘apparating’—”

“It’s bending the space-time continuum, yeah, yeah. But seriously, no one else can do that?”

“Uh. Not that I know of?”

Dean’s scowl deepened. “What the—why didn’t you ever tell me you were a goddamn _wizard_ in the angel community?”

“I assumed you knew,” Castiel said. “Have you ever seen anyone from my family do the same?”

Dean hadn’t. He’d seen them _physically_ fly around, flapping their wings with large movements just to hover a feet above the ground, and on one memorable occasion, he’d witnessed Gabriel hop from rooftop to rooftop as he’d fled a furious Michael, but Castiel was right – no one else teleported like him.

“I just never realized that, ‘s all,” Dean muttered, making Castiel laugh. Dean loved his laughter, low and rumbly, even if it was aimed at Dean’s ignorance.

“Good to know there are still things that you don’t know about me,” Castiel teased him.

“Yeah,” Dean said, when he couldn’t think of anything else.

 _Likewise_ , he could’ve said.

Anna returned then, and Dean was glad that she hadn’t been there to witness his fumbling. She handed Castiel a cup – tea, by the looks of it – and Dean couldn’t help but note how easy everything seemed between them. Castiel nodded a thank you to her, his wings arching a little towards her, and Anna’s red wings arched against his as she smiled in return. Even if they’d known each other only for a few weeks, it was obvious how much they enjoyed each other’s company and how well suited they were.

If nothing else, at least Dean could take comfort in knowing that Castiel was marrying someone worthwhile. It pained him to admit it, but Anna was a great match for Castiel. It seemed that Dominions really knew what they were doing. No wonder they hadn’t even considered a feeble little human like Dean for Cas.

“So, where were we?” Anna asked, eyes bright.

“I think I was about to tell another embarrassing story about Cas,” Dean said. He leaned closer, and mock-whispered, “This one includes a pigeon, a bottle of Jack Daniels, and a very, _very_ drunk Cas.”

“Dean, do I need to remind you that the pigeon was _your_ fault?” Castiel said, eyes flashing dangerously. “And if we’re playing dirty, I can top that. How about the story of Dean, a lost bike, and our old elementary school teacher?”

“Shh, I’m supposed to embarrass you, not the other way round!”

“I’ll play,” Anna said suddenly. “Story for story? Because I have one that includes a frat party, lots of spiked punch, and two cheerleaders. Spoilers,” she said, flashing a grin, “one of the cheerleaders was me.”

“This story is not suitable for young children, I take it,” Cas said, deadpan.

“Definitely not,” Anna said, just as deadpan.

Goddamnit, but Dean just couldn’t hate her. She was great. He swallowed the bitterness down his throat, and concentrated on listening to Anna’s story, ready to fake laughter in appropriate places. Annoyingly, he didn’t have to, because he genuinely enjoyed her company and sense of humor.

That, oddly, made the whole situation only harder to bear.

 

* * *

 

Things got a little calmer after that. Dean survived meeting Anna, accepted that he liked her (just as Cas had promised), and then accepted that despite liking her, he still didn’t want to see her any more than strictly necessary. He didn’t think he could handle hearing her talk about the wedding, or what her life with Castiel would be like, so after that Tuesday, he didn’t contact Cas at all or go around his house. He knew it was out of the ordinary, because adults with responsibilities or not, Dean and Castiel were used to seeing or at least talking or messaging each other almost every day. In his defense, Castiel didn’t contact Dean, either, but he was probably busy with his work, as well as spending time with his new fiancée.

For the rest of the week, Dean worked on the restaurant, channeling all of his stress and heartbreak into that. He renewed some floorboards upstairs, removed a wall between the bedroom and what had been a little closet to get more space (even if his original plan had been to get more space for _their_ bedroom – but Dean figured that he could still knock down the wall and put a huge TV and bookshelf in there), and painted the walls. The downstairs was nowhere near done yet, but Dean figured that in a few weeks, he could move in the upstairs apartment. It was starting to resemble the apartment he’d had in his mind when he’d bought the place, even if half of his plans were still blank at this stage. He didn’t know what to fill the space with, because in his mind, he’d saved half of the job for Cas.

How idiotic and presumptuous that had been of him. What on earth had he been thinking, buying a _house_ and establishing a business without asking Cas first?

But it was too late to go back now, so Dean worked until he had blisters in his hands, and that’s how the last week of June went. Jo and Sam came to help him at some point, but Dean chased them off after witnessing one too many incidents of them playing around with nails and hammers, and making each other laugh. If they weren’t going to help, they might as well be off enjoying their summer break before returning to college.

The beginning of July was unbearably sunny, and the days got hot, which made Dean realize one other thing he’d need to fix in the house: the air conditioning. There was none. He took an old fan from Ellen’s cupboard and placed it on the counter downstairs, and it helped as he started to work on the downstairs of the house, trying to transform it into at least something resembling his vision. It would’ve been easier with Cas’s input, but Dean tried not to think about that. He’d moped long enough. At some point, pining after your best friend, who was getting married, crossed a line and became desperately pathetic instead of just being pathetic.

On Thursday, Cas came for a visit. Dean didn’t startle this time, even though Cas teleported right in the middle of the room without announcing that he was coming over beforehand.

“Forgot your bell again,” Dean just said with a grin as Castiel stretched his wings after the flight.

“I couldn’t find one that would sound the same as Clarence’s,” Cas countered, and Dean huffed a laugh. Meg Masters, a girl Castiel had been sort-of-friends with in college, had started to use that particular nickname just to rile Cas up, and even if Meg wasn’t in the picture anymore, the habit had stuck. Personally, Dean had always thought that Meg’s way of using the reference was more mocking than affectionate, so he and Cas had started to use it in as absurd places as possible.

Dean wiped the sweat off of his forehead and straightened up as Castiel looked around, pausing to take the progress in. Even if Dean knew that Cas would approve of the changes, it was still a relief when Cas turned to him with a smile.

“This is remarkable,” Castiel said. Dean flushed.

“It’s nothing, man.”

“Stop that,” Cas said, seeing through Dean as always. “You’ve put a lot of work into this.”

“Well…yeah, kinda,” Dean grinned, and Castiel grinned back.

“Samandriel’s offered to help you, you know. I’ll give you his number,” Castiel said then, and something painful twisted Dean’s heart. He didn’t want Anna the heart-crusher’s brother’s help, of all people, but there was no logical argument against Cas’s kind offer.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbled. “So, uh, how’s…how’s Anna?”

“She’s fine, thank you for asking,” Castiel said. He hesitated for a split second, but before Dean could ponder on the meaning of that, Cas continued, “Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“Uh. Sure?”

“Our ceremony is in three weeks,” Cas started, and already, Dean knew that this wasn’t going to end up well for him. Cas was getting married in three weeks? After knowing Anna for just barely over that time? Three weeks would never be enough time for Dean to stop moping and put on a brave face. “We’re starting to plan the reception, and, well, if you have the time, would you bake a cake for it?”

Dean blinked. He didn’t know what he’d expected Cas to ask, but this wasn’t it. Dean dabbled in baking as a hobby, but his skills were limited, and definitely not enough for a layered _wedding_ cake.

“You want me to bake your wedding cake?” That was a horrible idea, on so many levels, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to say any of those reasons. Instead, he said, “Wouldn’t you rather have Benny do it? He’s a chef, professionally trained and—”

“But he doesn’t know how to make that one cake you always make,” Cas said. “You know, the one with Bailey’s.”

Dean knew exactly what Cas meant, because it was the only layered cake Dean ever made, and only because he could put alcohol in the filling and not feel bad. Still, he feebly protested, “Is that appropriate for a wedding? I mean, what does Anna think?”

“She suggested it,” Cas said with a small smile that obliterated any remaining objections that Dean had. “I was showing her pictures of Sam’s eighteenth birthday, and she asked about the cake you’d made. She’d really like it if you agreed, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t say no. It was physically impossible.

“Just a small cake,” Cas said then, looking a bit embarrassed. His wings fluttered behind him, confirming Dean’s interpretation. “It’s not a very big event.”

“Great, great,” Dean said. “How many people will be there?”

“Just our families,” Cas said. “You, Sam, Charlie, Jo, Ash, Victor, if they can make it.”

“I’m sure they can,” Dean said. “So, no big white wedding for you, eh?”

Cas shrugged. “We both have small families. It didn’t seem to make sense to make this a huge event.”

 _Small favors_ , Dean thought. He didn’t think he could handle baking Cas’s wedding cake for three hundred guests. He would be too busy crying to get any baking done. At least with one, small cake, he could put time aside for bemoaning his fate.

“Alright, alright,” Dean said. “I’ll do it. Anything else I can help you with, Casanova?”

“Well, there is the question of hiring a band, so—”

“You mention my drunken rendition of ‘Eye of the Tiger’ to _anyone_ and I’m putting arsenic in the cake.”

“Please try to refrain from following George R.R. Martin’s example.”

“You’re still angry that I spoiled the Red Wedding to you, aren’t you?”

“That was completely unnecessary, Dean. Completely unnecessary,” Cas said, and from there, the discussion derailed into the appropriate time for waiting for spoilers, fantasy as a genre in general, and if angels and dragons were related. Without Dean noticing, Cas ended up helping him with restoring the walls, even cleaning up the kitchen with minimal input from Dean. Even if Missouri had emptied the house otherwise, the kitchen had been left as it had been on the last day _Missouri's Kitchen_ had been open, and before Dean could get any construction done and before Benny could place his new knives there, the space had to be cleared.

It was dark outside when they finally finished for the day, and Dean felt better than he had in a while. He and Cas sat outside on the porch after that, enjoying the evening breeze and the quieting town around them.

“Thanks for helping me today,” Dean said when Cas finally stood up to head home.

“Not at all,” Cas said. His wings curled around Dean’s shoulders, gently touching them. “After all, you’ll be helping me with the ceremony.”

Oh. Right. For a few hours, Dean had been able to forget the ever-crushing weight in his heart, but the melodramatics were back the second Cas reminded him of that.

“Um,” Dean swallowed, “Sure. Bros helping bros, right?”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said. He smiled, and hesitantly, Dean smiled back. He was still staring at the space where Cas had stood, long after Cas had flapped his wings once and disappeared.

When Cas didn’t come back, Dean headed back inside to continue fixing the house by himself.

 

* * *

 

On Saturday, Dean had to swallow his pride and go visit his childhood home – or, well, technically, it was still his home, because the only things that he kept at his new apartment at the restaurant were a toothbrush and a change of clothes. Everything else he owned (as little as that was) was still back at Ellen and Bobby’s house, and Dean couldn’t avoid them forever. Ellen had called Dean three times on Friday, and since Dean had ignored each call, he knew that unless he slunk back to visit his adoptive mom with a good explanation, Ellen would come barging in to his restaurant. Even if Dean had lived in Ellen and Bobby’s care over fifteen years, sometimes, he still had trouble thinking of them as his parents, despite that being an accurate description of their relationship. Sam called Ellen “mom,” since he’d been so young that it had been easier for him to get accustomed to the new situation, but Dean always called her “Ellen.” It wasn’t because Dean didn’t think of Ellen as his mother – he just reserved that particular word for a dead mother figure who became more saintly in his mind with each passing year (as Charlie had imaginatively worded it).

When Dean drove to Ellen and Bobby’s house and stepped out of the car, Ellen was in the garden, trimming the bushes that framed the driveway.

“Finally,” Ellen huffed. “Nice of you to show your face, boy. Where on earth have you been?”

“Working,” Dean muttered.

“I can see that,” Ellen said, raising her eyebrows. She stepped closer and tapped Dean’s cheekbone with her forefinger before he could stop her. “Have you been sleeping at all? These—” she tapped his cheekbone again, “black rings would indicate otherwise.”

“ _Ellen_ ,” Dean whined, briefly reverting back into a teenager embarrassed by their parents. He took a step backwards. “I’m okay.”

“Clearly,” Ellen said, unbelieving. She shook her head. “Have you had lunch yet?”

“Hello to you, too,” Dean said, ducking his head. “Have you eaten yet?” seemed to be Ellen’s way of asking, “How are you?” Dean supposed that her habit – as well those few memories of his mother – was where he’d gotten his tendency to relate food to love. “It’s eleven in the morning. Of course I haven’t had lunch yet.”

“I’ll heat up some soup for you.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile a bit. “Mushroom soup?”

“Of course,” Ellen said with a scoff, but it was affectionate. “I know it’s your favorite.”

Ellen and Jo had been living in the same house all their lives, even before Dean, Sam, and finally Bobby, had been added to the family. Ellen’s first husband Bill had built it by himself, and Ellen and Bobby had added to the house during the years. Bill had run a bar in the left wing of the house, but after his death, Ellen had quickly abandoned the enterprise and turned it into a living room, closing off the extra doors to the side. Despite the fact that Dean had lived in the house nearly all of his life, he’d never felt like it was _home_ to him the same way Sam clearly felt. It was Ellen and Bobby’s house, and Jo and Sam’s home, too, but Dean always felt like he was the guest who’d stayed a bit too long, and whose presence was only tolerated because of politeness. Castiel had always smacked him in the head with a wing when Dean had as much as hinted at these kind of thoughts – Castiel loved Ellen and Bobby’s house, almost as much as he loved his own. Nonetheless, that was why Dean had worked on the restaurant and the apartment above it so tirelessly; he wanted to establish a new home there.

(The fact that Cas wouldn’t be moving there with him hurt, of course, but Dean tried not to think about that.)

Jo and Sam were both lounging in the living room when Dean entered, and though they both looked up, neither stood from the comfortable positions they’d managed to slither into. Jo seemed to be one with the couch, and had thrown her feet in Sam’s lap, effectively trapping Sam in his place. Not that Sam seemed any more inclined to move: he was reading, and wouldn’t get up for hours, when he got into that position.

“I think I’m seeing a ghost,” Jo commented when Dean entered the room.

“Very funny,” Dean said.

“No, I mean it. I thought those rotten floorboards had finally caved in and you’d fallen into your death.”

Which was Jo’s way of saying, “You haven’t shown your face here in a week, and I’m worried, you asshat.” Dean understood that perfectly well – he just pretended not to, because riling up Jo was always funny.

“Even if I was dead, I wouldn’t haunt your ass this way. I’d wake you up in the middle of the night and scare you to death.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jo said, waving her hand. She was right, but Dean wouldn’t tell her that. “And, I reiterate: what is your deal?”

“Huh?”

“She’s right, Dean,” Sam said, closing the book. Dean sighed – that meant a serious conversation was about to happen. “We haven’t heard a peep from you in ages. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just working.” He continued before Sam could start the inevitable lecture, “You two seem to be enjoying your brief freedom from college.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me of that hell-hole,” Jo said, letting her head flop back against the couch. “I’m not going to move from this couch until I have to go back there.”

“Sounds fairly unhygienic.”

“I’m still doing better than my awful roommate,” Jo muttered ominously, and because Dean had some sense left, he didn’t ask. He’d heard more than enough Jo’s tales about her college roommate, who, among other things, had deemed showering as optional, and leftover food as something that could conveniently be left on the floor to rot, until the smell was unbearable and the mold had completely covered whatever was left. No wonder Jo had requested a different roommate and wasn’t looking forward to going back there in a few weeks.

“You should hire someone to help you,” Sam said. “And I mean, I don’t know much about construction, but we could always help you with what we can.”

“No, we can’t. We’re busy testing this couch’s endurance,” Jo said, and Sam shot a dark glare at her.

“That’s…nice, Sammy, but I don’t need any help.” To escape the uncomfortable discussion, Dean turned around towards the stairs that led to the upstairs floor and attic, where his room was. “You two just enjoy your freedom!”

He managed to get to the stairs without Sam and Jo continuing the discussion, but he could clearly hear Jo say to Sam, “I _told_ you he looks like two drinks away from sleeping under the bridge.”

“Harsh,” Sam said.

Well. Dean couldn’t argue with Jo’s analogy. If he hadn’t witnessed from a young age how addictive alcohol could be, he might have as well drowned his sorrows in a drink or two. As it was, he was burying his issues in working. At least that was productive, Dean supposed.

Originally, Dean had thought he might stay at Ellen and Bobby’s a day or two, sleep in a real bed instead of a mattress with no sheets or the back of the Impala, but listening to everyone needlessly worry about him made him question that choice. Dean resolved to pack as much as he could and go back to the restaurant tonight.

Dean had moved to the attic when he had been ten – before that, he’d shared a room with Sam downstairs. Even if Dean had protested being separated from Sammy at first, he’d soon grown to love the peace and the space the attic offered. Moreover, Castiel had loved to spend time there from the very beginning, because he could stretch his wings as far as they could go and not bump into the walls. As the attic was one, continuous space, Dean’s room didn’t have walls, per se, but it was divided from the rest of random things in the attic by a folding screen. Dean sat down on his bed, sighed, and tried to think what he should pack first. Clothes, obviously, but it would make him feel better if he brought something more personal with him as well – like books. Maybe those few photo albums he owned.

Dean was still sitting on his bed, lost in thought, when out of the blue, there was a flutter of wings, and Castiel materialized in front of him. Dean fell backwards on the bed, startled.

“Cas! Fuck, how many times have I told you—”

“To wear a bell,” Cas said, with a quirk on his lips. Damn, he was doing that on purpose, just to mess with Dean. “I apologize, but I couldn’t find one that would sound right.”

“I’ll give you one as a wedding present,” Dean quipped, and then instantly felt awful. At least he had one talent – Dean was a master at making himself feel bad.

“Oh,” Cas said, looking surprised. “That’s…that’s not necessary, Dean. Presents aren’t traditional to _paracleda_.”

“Oh. Um, okay.” At least that was one thing less to worry about. He sat up, and as he did, Castiel stepped closer, briefly touching his shoulders in a tiny hug. Dean couldn’t help but feel better at that. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but what are you doing here?”

“I came to return these,” Castiel said. He pulled two pieces of paper from the pockets of his coat, and held the up for Dean to see. At first, Dean couldn’t understand what he was supposed to see in the mishmash of blue and black lines, but then it dawned on him.

“You borrowed my drawings of your wings?” Dean asked, surprised. “Why? And where did you even find those?”

“Ellen kept them,” Castiel said. He handed them to Dean, who took them, still confused. His gaze drifted over the shaky lines: twelve-year-old Dean had been many things, but an artist was not one of them. It was obvious that Dean had barely managed to follow his reference, and many times, the lines intersected weirdly, like he hadn’t planned to do that. Still, if you looked closely, you could make out certain patterns that were present in Castiel’s wings. Looking back at the drawings, it was obvious how much Dean had paid attention to Castiel, even at that age.

“Okay, I should’ve guessed that,” Dean conceded. “What’d you need these for, anyway?”

“Anna wanted to them for the _paracleda_ decorations,” Castiel said.

“You used my shitty drawings as reference?” Dean asked. He didn’t know whether to be touched or insulted.

“They are fairly accurate,” Castiel shrugged. “And have a childlike charm to them.”

“Because I was twelve when I drew these.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Castiel said, with a grin. “Anna’s three-year-old cousin is drawing her part.”

Dean had to laugh at that. It would make for an interesting decoration, at least.

“You look tired,” Castiel said then, stepping closer. He was wearing that frown again, eyes almost glowing, like he could see through Dean. Quickly, Dean looked away, but he had never been able to lie to Cas all that well. Omitting things was a different thing.

“I, uh, haven’t slept all that much. Been busy with the restaurant.”

“Yes, Jo told me,” Cas said. The frown disappeared, but he looked worried, still. “You look very tired. Do you need any help?”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Dean said. “You’re busy with your…ceremony, anyway.”

“ _Paracleda_ ,” Castiel pronounced carefully, and he looked ready to start ranting about flower assortments or whatever people ranted about when they were trying to get married and were awfully stressed about it, but Dean didn’t particularly want to hear that. Instead, he quickly carried on,

“So, you, um, you do your thing, and, and, don’t worry about me. I like the work.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, sounding a bit unsure. “But it’s a huge task, Dean. I’ll have Samandriel call you.”

“No! No, that’s not…necessary,” Dean said. “Besides, um, Benny’s been helping me with a lot of stuff. I’m almost finished, actually.”

“Already? That’s impressive, Dean.”

“Well, uh, not like we can open up the place just yet, but, uh, soon.” Dean gave a short laugh that almost sounded convincing. “Soon.”

“I look forward to it,” Castiel said, and fuck, that honest expression he wore should’ve been illegal. Dean felt awful about lying to him.

“Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath just yet,” Dean muttered. “Anyway, uh, I should be getting back to the restaurant. Work never ends, you know.”

“Oh,” Castiel said. “You’re not staying for dinner? Ellen insisted I stay.”

“Of course she did,” Dean muttered. “Fine, I’ll stay for dinner. But after that, I’m leaving.”

“Alright,” Castiel said, looking a bit uncertain. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah.” Dean let his gaze drop to the floor. “Anyway, I should pack my shit. Get ready to move.”

“Do you want any help?”

“Not really,” Dean said. “Thanks,” he added, fearing he’d come off as too aloof.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Castiel bat his wings once, making the drawings in Dean’s hand rustle, and then disappeared. Now that Dean knew how rare it was for angels to teleport, Dean had to roll his eyes at Castiel’s antics. It was ridiculous to use his powers to teleport _downstairs_ , when Castiel could’ve been teleporting halfway across the country.

Dean didn’t even know why he felt suddenly angry. He sat on the bed for a while longer, clutching the drawings in his hands with too much force. When he noticed that, he eased his hold and tried to smooth them out.

 _Too late_ , he thought.

Dean didn’t stay for dinner. Quietly, he took three boxes of random things and clothes to his car, and drove back to the restaurant without saying goodbye.

 

* * *

 

Dean tried not to think about Castiel’s impeding _paracleda_ , or whatever it was called in Enochian, and the best way to avoid thinking about that was to lose himself in work. The next two weeks passed like this: Dean slept at his new home, having brought a mattress and a pillow to the upstairs apartment, and started to work on the restaurant at dawn. He worked until he couldn’t, and passed out in the evening, rinse and repeat. Benny came around sometimes, when he didn’t have a shift in one of the McDonald’s littering the nearby city, and helped Dean with the kitchen. Sam and Jo showed up sometimes, but Dean was quick to shoo them out, since they weren’t any help. So, when Charlie Bradbury showed up on his doorstep, Dean knew that he was in trouble. Charlie was wonderful otherwise, but she was more likely to win a prize at being the Nerdiest Person Alive than at Most Helpful at Construction, and from Charlie’s serious look alone, Dean knew that she wasn’t there to help him install new cabinets to the kitchen.

In tow with Charlie, there were Sam and Jo, which wasn’t odd, considering the three of them got on famously. Charlie had been Dean’s other best friend since junior high school. Charlie was the same age as Jo, and while it had been odd at first, befriending someone younger than him, Dean had gotten over the thought quickly, because after all – Castiel was older than him, and that had never stopped them from becoming friends. Charlie and Jo were also good friends, and with Sam added to the mix, they actually formed a trio that Dean was a little afraid of. When you put three equally nerdy and unafraid people in the same space, you got an unstoppable combination. It usually spelled for a fun night and interesting conversations, but at other times – like now – it spelled a stern talk with some uncomfortable truths.

Dean wasn’t ashamed to admit that he thought of running out of the back door when the three stepped inside the restaurant, arms crossed.

“We’re not open,” Dean tried to joke. Sam huffed.

“I’m pretty sure your kitchen is a biological weapon waiting to happen, at this stage,” Jo said. “And we’re not here because of that.”

“Uh. Movie night, then?”

“It’s ten in the morning,” Sam reminded him.

“Obligatory Saturday visit, then?”

“It’s Wednesday.”

“This is an intervention,” Charlie said, and Dean groaned.

“I thought people only did that in sitcoms, not real life,” Dean protested, but didn’t struggle when Jo grabbed his arm. Sam unfolded the chair he’d brought with him – well, Dean couldn’t fault them for being prepared – and put it in the middle of the room. Jo pulled him towards it, and sighing, Dean took a seat.

The three of them gathered before him, looking serious, but before Dean could make a joke about the nerdiest Men In Black ever, Sam started to talk.

“Dean, we’re worried,” Sam said, and it was the puppy-dog eyes that made Dean shut his mouth and listen. Sam only broke out the kicked puppy look when Things Were Serious, With Capital Letters. “You’re running yourself to the ground with this, this…project. You don’t sleep, you don’t eat, and mom hasn’t seen you in two weeks. You didn’t even come for lunch on Sunday.”

Dean took back everything he’d just thought of Things Being Serious With Capital Letters. Sam was way off base.

“Well, that’s nice of you to worry, but that’s bullcrap. You see, Sammy, when adults want to open up their own business, they need to _work_ for that.”

“Yeah, work. Not masochistically torture themselves,” Jo snapped.

“I’m shocked you even know what a masochist is, Tweedle-Dum.”

“Kind of hard not to, when I’ve seen your Internet history. Seriously, I didn’t need to know what kind of porn you watch.”

“No one told you to look!” Dean yelled. “And that was _one_ time!”

“That video was in your bookmarks!”

“Guys, um,” Charlie coughed, “getting off topic here. Way, way off topic.”

“Right,” Sam said. “Point is, we’re worried that you’re not coping with the stress properly.”

“Coping with what stress?” Dean asked. “I’m not stressed!”

“When’s the last time you slept for more than four hours?”

Dean didn’t have an answer to that. He actually couldn’t remember.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Charlie asked. “Benny’s your partner in this, and even he hasn’t worked as much for your restaurant. And you refuse help from others.”

“Not true,” Dean said. “Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee here are just useless,” he said, motioning towards Sam and Jo.

“Yeah, but Cas told us about Samandriel wanting to test his powers, and you never called him,” Charlie said.

Dean’s gaze shifted towards the floorboards. “Didn’t wanna bother him,” Dean muttered, weakly.

“Samandriel is an angel,” Sam said. “He’s not even going to break sweat by the time you’re ready to call it a night. You need help with this, Dean.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want help from him,” Dean snapped.

“What about Cas, then?” Jo asked.

“He’s…he’s got other things to do. With, with the ceremony, and, and, stuff,” Dean said. That was a mistake, because Sam, Jo, and Charlie looked at each other, startled.

“Oh,” all three said, unnervingly at the same time. Dean looked away.

“Um.”

“This isn’t work-related stress,” Charlie said. “You’re _wallowing_. You’re still hung up on Cas, aren’t you?”

“You still haven’t told him?” Jo asked, pity peppering his voice. “Oh, Dean, you idiot.”

“What?” Dean said. He crossed his arms, in a futile attempt to shield himself from the world. “I’d be an idiot for telling him. No good can come out of that.”

“At least he’s talking about it,” Sam muttered to Jo and Charlie, but Dean heard it nonetheless.

“Dean, you need to stop over-thinking this and just ask him out,” Charlie said. “You’re only hurting yourself this way.”

“Myself?” Dean huffed. “More like protecting myself from the inevitable rejection.”

“You don’t know that,” Sam said.

“C’mon, Dean, it’s not that bad,” Charlie said. “It’s…like ripping off a Band-Aid. It hurts a little, but the fear is greater than the pain.”

“Ripping off a Band-Aid,” Dean repeated. “You’re telling me that confessing my love is on par with ripping off a Band-Aid?”

“Did he just say, ‘confessing my love?’” Jo whispered to Sam. “I’m not dreaming, am I? He’s actually admitting it?”

“Don’t say anything. He might take it back,” Sam whispered back. Dean didn’t bother telling them that he could hear them perfectly well. They were standing two feet from him, after all.

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing,” Charlie said. “And anyway, wouldn’t that be a clearer sign than all—” she gestured around the room, “this?”

“Wait, what?” Jo asked, startled. “What’s all—” she mimicked Charlie’s gesture, “‘this’?”

Charlie raised her brows at Jo. “Dean wanted to open up this place with Cas, right?”

Dean wanted the ground swallow him. It was one thing to have a dream in your own head, but having it brought out in the open was another thing. It had sounded like a good idea in his head, but now that Charlie had put it into words, Dean could only feel foolish.

He never should’ve rushed into this. He should’ve waited, or at least asked Cas beforehand. Working on the restaurant was going slowly, because he always felt like he was missing someone there.

“You really did all of this for Cas?” Jo asked. “You mean you bought a restaurant and restored it because of him? _For_ him?”

Dean had no good answer for that. “Duh” might’ve been a little too aggressive for Jo. Besides, it wasn’t like Jo hadn’t known that from the start. Dean had never exactly hidden his motives.

“You know you’re not living in a Hugh Grant romantic comedy, right? This is a little excessive,” Jo continued.

“I know, right? I can’t decide if that’s creepy or awesome,” Charlie commented. “Cre-wsome?”

“That’s not a word,” Jo protested. “And I say, ‘obsessive.’”

“Guys, stop that,” Sam said, and for once, Dean was glad for a Winchester that was more in touch with his feelings. Sam was able to see that Dean didn’t like the subject.

Then Sam grinned at him, and Dean cursed his brother to hell for all eternity.

“Dean, you know you don’t have to make a nest for him, right?” Sam asked, with amused exasperation in his voice. “Cas isn’t very traditional.”

“His family is,” Dean countered.

“Yeah, but _Cas_ isn’t. He didn’t even have a _ugear_.” [1]

Dean had no earthly idea what Sam was talking about, but he wasn’t going to let Sam know that. Besides, Sam was wrong. Cas was getting married with angelic traditions, and that was a sign if nothing else. Dean also remembered Cas’s coming of age ritual when he was fifteen. Dean had been thirteen and endlessly bored, so his memories of the ritual were limited, but he remembered a lot of speech in Enochian, Cas wearing white robes, and something about the cake they’d had at the reception afterwards. He vaguely remembered Cas being flustered about the robes, telling Dean that his family insisted on them, even if Cas thought that white robes against his black wings looked ridiculous.

Dean hadn’t gotten the significance back then. He still wasn’t sure did he get it, because he’d never actually asked what the white color meant in the ritual, but he now realized that there was a hidden meaning behind it, and one that Castiel had disliked.

There seemed to be a lot of things about angel culture that he didn’t know, Dean realized. Maybe he should actually read that old book he had in his bookshelf, instead of waiting for the knowledge to magically get transferred to him via osmosis.

“And even if he was traditional,” Sam continued, “I think he’d be the one to provide the nest.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, and to his annoyance, Sam, Charlie, and Jo all giggled.

“Well, for one, he actually has a regular income,” Jo said.

“I’m gonna have a regular income, too!” Dean protested. He thought of the unfinished kitchen, the loan he’d had to take, and amended, “At some point.”

“He has a house that’s not falling apart,” Sam said.

“Knows how to cook,” Jo said.

“How to fix things.”

“I can do that, too,” Dean protested.

“Guys, you’re missing the obvious,” Charlie said, and from her wide grin, Dean knew to groan even before she’d said anything. “He’s a _Seraph_. That’s like, being the alpha wolf of the pack.”

“It’s really not,” Dean said, although he couldn’t actually fault Charlie for making that analogy. He never thought of Cas’s status, mostly because he didn’t understand the angelic ranks and hierarchy all that well, but from what Cas had once told him, each angel was assigned a rank based on their grace. It wasn’t hereditary – therefore, while Naomi belonged to Powers, Michael and Gabriel were both Archangels, hierarchically lower. Hannah was a Virtue, and Hester belonged to Thrones, both hierarchically the same as their mother; and Castiel was a Seraph, the highest rank in their house. Dean recalled Castiel once explaining that Lucifer had belonged to Seraphim as well, which was why Naomi hadn’t taken it well at first when Castiel had received his rank in his coming of age ritual. Apparently, it brought back awful memories.

“Well, actually, it kind of is,” Sam mused. “Not like angelic ranks matter much in everyday matters, but nonetheless, he _does_ belong to the top crowd.”

“Anyway,” Charlie said, waving her hand, “Getting back to the intervention…”

“Right.”

“Dean, you need to do something about this,” Charlie said. “It takes a certain kind of…madness, shall we say, to torture oneself like you’ve been doing.”

“Well, maybe I’m the kind of crazy made from the shit of a bat.”

“ _What?_ ”

“What?”

“I can’t believe you just quoted Bloodhound Gang. In a serious conversation.”

“I can’t believe you just recognized a Bloodhound Gang quote.”

“And not even classic Bloodhound Gang,” Charlie continued, as if she hadn’t heard Dean. “That was new Bloodhound Gang, like, from 2015. Unforgivable, Winchester.”

“They’re not old enough to have something called ‘classic Bloodhound Gang.’”

“Uh,” coughed Sam, attempting to get the conversation back on track, but Charlie couldn’t resist muttering one final rebuttal.

“‘Bad Touch’ _is_ a classic. Argument over.”

“Anyway,” Jo said, loud enough to cover up Charlie’s mumbling, “The point is that you’re moping, Dean. You think you’re dealing with it, but you’re not. You’re _moping_.”

“I’m not!”

“You are,” Sam said, “and it’s gotten out of hand. You haven’t left this place in two weeks!”

“At least I’m getting something done!”

“It’s not healthy, Dean,” Charlie said. Her stern voice made Dean’s shoulders slump. “You hole up in here, lose yourself to work, and for what? Is it getting any better?”

It wasn’t. Charlie was right: Dean wasn’t accomplishing anything by hiding out in his new house. Well, he was fixing the house, sure, but he wasn’t fixing himself. And he couldn’t do that forever – sooner or later, he’d finish the house, and what would he do, then? It wouldn’t change the fact that Cas was still getting married with someone else, that Dean was still struggling with it, and he would continue to struggle with it, until he faced the facts.

“I need to tell him,” Dean said, after a silence.

“You need to tell him,” Charlie repeated, nodding.

Great. So, in order to stop his heart from hurting, Dean just had to tell Cas everything, get his heart broken, and completely and unfairly uproot Cas’s life. But at least this way, he would deal with situation, and could begin healing.

“Don’t worry, it’s just like—”

“You mention anything about Band-Aids, and you will never get a free meal at my restaurant.”

Charlie, amazingly, shut her mouth.

 

* * *

 

In a true Winchester fashion, Dean didn’t, of course, deal with it right away. Instead, he wallowed for a little longer, until it was a little too late. Talking to Castiel on the day of the ceremony was probably unfair, but Dean physically couldn’t bring himself to say anything beforehand. He tried; when Castiel came over to help with installing new fridges to the kitchen later that week; when Cas called him to ask about the cake the next Wednesday; when Cas called him a week before the ceremony “just to talk.” But because Dean took none of those private, easier chances, he had to take the last: an hour before the ceremony, on Cas’s wedding day.

Since the angels had their own branches of religion and customs, they usually didn’t favor churches or the like in their festivities. Still, Dean had been surprised to find out that the _paracleda_ was held in an old, empty school building that the town sometimes rented out for large gatherings and private parties. It struck Dean as odd that Castiel and Anna had wanted to hold their ceremony and the party there, because the place was more likely to be used by Boy Scouts for camping than for a wedding party. Then again, he didn’t know that much about different branches of angel religion, or whatever it was called, and it kind of made sense to rent out a neutral place for a ceremony. Kind of like a Jewish-Moslem wedding or the like, he supposed.

But actually, Dean had to admit that the venue was perfect, when he arrived. The building was wooden and old, with a large and well-kept garden in front of it. It was charming, in a word; it almost felt like stepping into a dream. There was a large banner hanging on top of the entrance, but it was written in Enochian, and Dean only recognized the letters that formed Castiel’s name. He stared at the letters for a moment, trying to make out Anna’s name and possibly “paracleda” in there somewhere, but he’d never bothered to learn Enochian. He regretted it now – maybe, if he’d paid more attention to Castiel’s culture, or kept up what Castiel had taught him in childhood, he wouldn’t be in this situation.

Inside of the building wasn’t any less charming. The hallway that lead to the smaller classrooms in the left and right wings was decorated with flowers – blue, red, and something green to tie them together – and what had probably doubled as a classroom and a huge dining room was now a wedding venue. In the middle of the room, there was a canopy, similar to whatever was used in Jewish weddings ( _chuppah_? Dean vaguely recalled), and the sheet was dyed with red and blue colors that seemed to melt into each other. Surprised, Dean recognized the patterns: this was what Castiel had borrowed his childhood drawings for. The sheet was filled with Dean’s crude renditions of Castiel’s wings and even cruder version of Anna’s wing patterns. Dean didn’t know how to feel about that.

On the right side of the room, there was a long table already full of food, and on the left, there were small, round tables for guests. Dean couldn’t tell which one would be the happy couple’s table, because all the tables looked similar, and didn’t have placement cards. On every table was a vase, full of the same flowers as in the hallway, and even the canopy was decorated with them.

In short, it looked perfect. Small and simple, perhaps, but perfect for Castiel’s wedding. Dean had to fight back the bile that threatened to rise up his throat.

He didn’t have much time to gather himself, because just then, a happy voice sounded from behind him.

“Dean! Welcome, I was getting antsy!”

Wonderful. Just the person Dean didn’t want to see. Then he thought that it was unfair to feel like that, and plastered a smile on his face before turning around.

“Hi, Anna,” he said. He was surprised when Anna bent her wings forward, almost touching his shoulders like Cas, but didn’t – the tips of her wings stopped inches before that, and the gesture felt more like a polite nod. Somehow, that instantly eased Dean’s mind.

“Oh, am I happy to see you,” Anna said. “My friend bailed and didn’t bring the salad she was in charge of, so please tell me you at least brought the cake.”

“Worry not, it’s in my car. Should I just—”

“Just put in on the table, that’s fine. The fridge broke, so everything’s going to be a bit too warm or too cold or too melted,” Anna said. “I guess something’s always bound to go wrong in these things.”

“That’s a tradition by itself,” Dean comforted her. “So, are you having any pre-wedding jitters?”

Anna chuckled. “Well, I am a bit anxious, so I guess you could call it that.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I really hope so. I’m not looking forward to meeting some of the guests,” she sighed, and then clarified, “My grandmother insisted attending, even if she didn’t approve of the match. I guess she’s still hoping that I would reconsider my _paracahe_.”

Dean momentarily felt affinity with Anna’s grandmother. Then he pushed the thought away.

“Didn’t approve? Why was that?”

“Well…she thinks Castiel is, and I quote, ‘beneath my rank.’”

“But Cas is a _Seraph_ , isn’t he?” Dean asked, confused. “You literally can’t get higher than that, right?”

“Well, yes, but…it’s a bit more complicated than that,” Anna said. “I’m a _Seraph_ , as well, so in that sense, I’m not taking anyone ‘beneath my rank’—” Anna rolled her eyes as she said that, “but since Castiel isn’t the first _Seraph_ of his family, my grandmother thinks that he’s hierarchically too low. She insisted that I at least, and I’m quoting again, ‘try to find the first _Seraph_ of Aaetpio.’”

“Wait, hang on.” Dean felt uneasiness settle into his stomach. “She thinks you should’ve picked _Lucifer_ instead?”

Anna winced, but quickly hid the expression. It was obvious that mentioning Lucifer was a sore subject for other angel families, as well, not just Castiel’s. “Essentially, yes. Lucifer was – well, still is, technically – the first _Seraph_ of Aaetpio, so if we were following the correct order, my _paracleda_ should’ve been with him.”

“Wow. That’s…”

“Yeah,” Anna said, just as uncomfortable. “But luckily, it did not come to that. No offense to Castiel’s family, of course, but Lucifer is…” Anna searched for a word for a bit too long, and Dean felt the need to step in.

“Missing,” Dean said. “So it’s kinda hard to tie yourself to someone who’s dropped off the face of the earth.”

“Exactly,” Anna said, relieved. “And, besides,” she lowered her voice, “Last I heard, Lucifer’s turned his back completely on tradition. He doesn’t want anything to do with our kind, so having a _paracleda_ with him would be impossible.”

“Wouldn’t wanna get together with someone with such different values,” Dean said.

“Exactly.”

“Well, you’re lucky you’re getting Cas, instead,” Dean said. He couldn’t help but mean it.

“Very lucky,” Anna said. Her smile was so bright that it lit the entire room, making everything seem lighter and easier.

Dean never stood a chance against this girl. He could accept that now. Maybe admitting that to Cas out loud would be the first step to healing, as well.

“Well, I should, the cake,” Dean vaguely gestured, getting suddenly uncomfortable under Anna’s happy stare.

“Oh! Of course.” She gave him another blinding smile. “Thank you so much, Dean. I’m so happy you agreed to help us out.”

“Anything for the bride, right,” Dean joked. Anna blinked, and Dean excused himself before he could be more awkward.

Anna looked so _happy_. She was glowing, as if she couldn’t wait for the ceremony to start, couldn’t wait to begin a life together with Cas.

At least they were in agreement there, Dean sighed in his mind.

He went back to his car and carefully carried the cake back inside. Anna was luckily gone from the room, and Dean could place the cake on the table without interruptions. There was still time before the ceremony; most of the guests weren’t there yet, and the only people in the room were busy finishing up the decorations and arranging the table. Dean didn’t know the angels, but they had to be Anna’s family or friends. He carefully avoided talking to them, thinking of hiding in his car for the remaining time, but then huge wings wrapped around him from behind.

Dean would’ve recognized that softness anywhere. Getting wrapped up in Castiel’s wings always felt like rolling around in clouds. Dean nudged against the wings, and turned around when Castiel let go.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said. He was smiling, carefree, looking just as happy as Anna was.

“Hi, Cas,” Dean grinned. “I brought the cake.”

“Anna’s really excited about that,” Castiel said. He looked over Dean’s shoulder, and then back at Dean. “It looks great, Dean.”

“Thanks,” Dean mumbled. He didn’t mention how many hours it had taken – that would’ve been sad enough.

“Thank you for helping out,” Castiel said.

“No problem,” Dean said, and then, because putting his foot in his mouth was a natural talent for him, he said, “You look nice.”

Thankfully, Cas didn’t notice anything odd about the comment. His wings arched upwards, proudly.

“Thank you,” Cas said, simply. Dean was actually downplaying it: Castiel looked great. He was wearing traditional robes (“It’s an alb, Dean, how many times do I have to tell you.”) that were sky-blue and black, contrasting perfectly against his wings. Golden patterns were embroidered in the chest and the sleeves, too complicated for Dean to track them with one look, but they seemed similar to Castiel’s wing patterns. Castiel looked nothing like Dean would have imagined, but he seemed content and happy, ready to take on the world.

Dean remembered that Anna hadn’t been wearing her robes (“Alb, Dean!”) yet, but he guessed that she would be changing into them shortly as well. Getting ready for the ceremony. Which was looming just half an hour away.

“Are you feeling alright?” Cas asked then. His habit of seeing through Dean was getting annoying.

“Yup. Never better,” Dean lied.

Cas narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t been sleeping, have you?”

“I have! Why does everyone harp on that?”

“How much did you sleep last night?”

“Um,” Dean winced. “About…four hours?”

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel said, with that certain tone. It was amazing how just Castiel saying his name could convey so much.

“I know, I know, I’ll handle it. Anyway, uh, wanna walk with me a bit? Before the ceremony?”

“Of course,” Cas said.

Castiel showed him around the house, pointing out the flowers and whatnot, occasionally stopping to greet arriving guests. Castiel had been right when he’d said that it was a small gathering: the only people Dean didn’t know were Anna’s friends and family, and even they seemed to be meshing well with Castiel’s family. Dean felt a bit agitated that he couldn’t get Cas’s attention on himself, but that was to be expected. It was Castiel’s wedding day, after all, and Dean was selfishly trying to steal him away for one final, private moment.

But even when they went outside to walk in the garden, Dean couldn’t bring himself to say a thing. He listened to Cas chatter on and on about his work, the ceremony, meeting Anna’s family – everything Dean had missed out lately, because he’d been so busy with hiding in his restaurant. Guiltily, Dean goaded Cas to talk more, and while he liked to listen Cas talk animatedly about anything, it wasn’t making him feel any better this time. His heart was pounding painfully, each beat ticking away more seconds before the ceremony.

And, then, it was suddenly too late. They went back inside, because the ceremony was to start in ten minutes, and Dean still hadn’t managed to get the words out. Castiel stayed in the hallway to talk with his mother and aunt for a moment, and Dean hung awkwardly back, not wanting to go inside the room and sit down. He didn’t want to leave Castiel’s side.

When Naomi and Castiel’s aunt finally went inside, Castiel turned to Dean. His wings were fluttering, small ripples going through them, and Dean could tell his own heart was beating just as erratically.

“I should get going,” Castiel said.

“I guess this is it,” Dean said then. His voice wavered.

“Yes,” Castiel said simply, with a smile. Dean couldn’t take it anymore.

Dean swallowed. The ceremony was starting in a few minutes – this was Dean’s one last chance to at least try to win Cas back, before the inevitable conclusion.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, and Dean realized that he’d been silently staring at Cas all the while.

“Cas, I’ve gotta tell you something,” Dean said. He swallowed again, and the sound of it rang in his ears. Cas peered at him curiously when he said nothing for a moment, and the more Cas kept looking at him like that, the harder it would be to tell.

Dean closed his eyes briefly and swallowed again.

“Okay, here goes,” he started, “I’m…I’m…”

 _Just like ripping off a Band-Aid_ , he repeated Charlie’s words in his head. Just like ripping open an enormous, bleeding wound, more like.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas asked, all patience, and Dean needed to stop stalling. The wedding was about to start, Cas was walking to the altar (or whatever was the angel equivalent of that) in a minute, and Dean couldn’t get the words out.

In one, huge rush, Dean blurted out, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you ever since you rescued me from Crowley’s hounds of hell. Ever since we were children.”

“Dean,” Cas breathed, amazement in his eyes, and for a moment, Dean was hopeful. This could be it, the moment where Cas miraculously returned his feelings, and they could ditch the wedding and elope together. Dean didn’t care where they went – he’d even consider flying out of the country, if that was what Cas wanted.

But then Cas took a breath, his face hardened, and Dean’s heart broke into a thousand pieces.

“You should’ve—I mean—We’ll talk after the _paracleda_ ,” Cas said. The note in his voice was final. The gong sounded from the room, signaling that the ceremony was starting, and that, if nothing else, made it abundantly clear that any chance that Dean had had, had now passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Second coming-of-age ritual.  [ return to text ]


	3. Part III

There had been only a few moments in Dean’s life when he felt like he was out of his body, watching his life happen to someone else. This was one of those moments; Cas was saying something about the ceremony, about how they should go inside, but all Dean could hear was white noise. He was floating somewhere in the stratosphere, orbiting the earth, and could do nothing to come back down. Sadly, it wasn’t the euphoric kind of floating – it was terrifying, being outside of himself and not being able to get back. Cas was still talking, but Dean couldn’t hear a word. He managed a nod, not even knowing what he agreed to, and watched as Castiel turned and walked away.

In a rush, Dean was back in his body, and every cell of his being hurt.

So. This was it. Dean had tried, he’d confessed his feelings, and it had led to nothing. Cas didn’t stop the wedding, he was still going to be married to Anna, and Dean was still a loser with a huge debt, a leaking roof over his head, and now a broken heart.

The worst thing was that even if Cas had rejected him, it didn’t stop Dean from loving him. He was still just as much in love with Cas as he’d been five minutes ago, and he doubted that this feeling would ever pass. Cas would be married to Anna, maybe have children with her, grow old with her, and Dean would still be pining after him when they were eighty. Worse still, Dean didn’t think that it would bother him that much. If Cas didn’t want to cut ties completely, he’d probably spend the rest of his days just as much in love with Cas as he was today, doomed to forever loop the past.

The pain he felt now would pass. At least Dean hoped so, because no one had told him how fucking _painful_ having your heart torn to pieces was. It was all-consuming, maddening, burning him to the ground. Screw whatever Charlie had said about ripping off a Band-Aid. Confessing his love to Cas hadn’t helped him to heal at all – it had changed absolutely nothing, and had only managed to make Dean feel _awful_.

It was too much to take. No matter what promises Dean had made to Cas or himself, he couldn’t bear to watch Cas get married to someone else. At least he wasn’t in tears when he left the venue; Dean didn’t think he could express any feeling except _pain_ for the rest of his life.

A soft sound of harp was coming from the venue when Dean walked outside. Fitting, he supposed, in an ironic way – Cas was walking to the opposite direction, and Dean was walking out of his life.

Dean couldn’t recall much of his trip to the restaurant afterwards, but he was fairly sure he made it without crashing the Impala, and definitely didn’t shed a single tear. That happened only when he was back at his new home, collapsed on his lonely, piss-poor mattress with no sheets.

 

* * *

 

Dean didn’t know how much time had passed between him coming home, having a pitiful cry, falling asleep, and waking up, but it must have been at least a few hours, because it was dark outside when he sat up. His head hurt, and Dean thought that maybe he should at least give it a real reason to hurt – he was pretty sure he had stashed one bottle of celebratory whiskey away. Instead of using it to celebrate he and Cas’s new home, he could use it to forget about that.

Groaning, he sat up on his mattress, and then remained there for a long, long while, just staring at the wall and attempting to get his mind somewhere else than the shitshow that was his life. Unfortunately, every time he told himself not to think about Cas and Anna’s wedding, his mind went exactly there, repeating the same images time and time again. How happy Anna had looked, how Cas had glowed in his alb (“So, he can be taught,” Dean imagined Cas would say), and how wonderful they’d look standing together under the canopy.

Dean didn’t know how long he sat there, wallowing, but it was brought to a sudden stop when Castiel appeared before him. Cas was back in regular clothes – very casual clothes, in fact, just jeans and an old t-shirt that Gabriel had gotten him from abroad (it had “agnel” written over a crude drawing of white wings. Gabriel had thought it was hilarious). Dean blinked furiously, wondering for a moment if he was hallucinating due to the stress his mind had been enduring for such a long time. It would at least explain why Cas wasn’t wearing his alb anymore or wasn’t at his own damn wedding party.

“Dean,” Cas said. Not a hallucination, then.

“Why aren’t you at the reception?” Dean asked, grogginess dragging down his voice.

“It’s ten o’clock,” Cas said. That was surprising – Dean had been sleeping for longer than he’d thought. “Most people have already left.”

“Yeah, well, still…”

“This was far more important,” Cas said. He seemed equally serious and…elated? Dean blinked, still not certain that he wasn’t hallucinating. “I thought we should talk about what happened before the ceremony.”

Really, truly, unfortunately not hallucinating. “Can we not?” Dean muttered. “I’d rather forget it even happened.”

“You…don’t want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.” Dean watched as Cas’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and then a blank look settled on his face. Dean suddenly had no idea what had happened just now.

“You weren’t at the ceremony,” Cas said then. Dean swallowed, steeling himself. He thought that it would have been obvious why he couldn’t be at the ceremony, even if he knew that it was unfair towards Cas. It was Castiel’s big day, after all, and Dean shouldn’t ruin it with his insignificant, little torn heart.

“I didn’t want to ruin your wedding day,” Dean muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” Castiel said.

“Seeing as you’re here comforting me and not off to honeymoon with your wife, I’d say I ruined it.”

“Comforting you?” Castiel frowned. Dean looked back, hopelessly, and Castiel frowned some more at him.

Then, suddenly, his eyes widened.

“Oh,” Castiel said. “Oh no. Sam did tell me to clarify, but I thought you—Dean, I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“What _paracleda_ means.”

“You said, and I quote, the English equivalent is ‘a marriage,” Dean said.

“A marriage of houses,” Castiel said.

Dean stared. Castiel stared back.

“What?” Dean said, weakly.

“A _paracleda_ is a ceremony to bind two houses together. To form an union. To establish a treaty within two families. To celebrate new connections,” Castiel explained. “Anna is my _paracahe_. My ‘equal.’” When Dean didn’t understand, Castiel stressed, “My special contact at the new family. We’re the new leaders of our houses.”

“Oh,” Dean said. He didn’t understand a thing. “Oh,” he repeated, unable to say anything else.

“I’m not married, in the human sense,” Cas said. “Anna is not my wife. She has no say in who I take on as a mate, except what she might say as a friend.”

“As…as a mate,” Dean repeated.

“Yes,” Cas said, looking straight at him. “Is that something you’d…want?”

“Cas, I…” Dean swallowed. Why the hell not, this confusion wasn’t getting any better. “I meant what I said. I’ve been in love with you since childhood.”

“I never realized,” Cas muttered. “I’m sorry, Dean. I, uh.” Cas looked flustered, and his wings were swaying from side to side, as if he wanted to fly away. Dean had never seen them like that. “I, um, I’m in love with you as well.”

Dean couldn’t answer. It was too much for his mind to handle. He needed a moment, and silently, he simply gaped at Cas. Smiling a little, Castiel looked back.

Slowly, the thought washed over him in waves. Cas was in love with him. Cas was in _love_ with him. Cas was in love with _him_. It repeated in his head, more and more certain each time, until Dean felt like his whole body was consumed with that certainty.

Cas loved him back.

Dean struggled to his feet with haste, but then he stopped, because he didn’t know what to do. He stood and stared at Cas, and Cas stared back, with the same wonder in his eyes.

“You mean that?” Dean asked then.

“Of course,” Cas said, with the biggest smile Dean had ever seen him wear.

Castiel’s wings swayed closer to Dean, the tips of them touching his shoulders, and that did it. Dean stepped forward, throwing his arms around Cas, and already anticipating it, Cas opened his arms and pulled Dean in. His wings wrapped tightly around them, pulling Dean as close as possible. Gently, Cas brushed his lips against Dean’s cheek, and smiling, Dean corrected the angle and brought their lips together.

Dean didn’t know what flying felt like, but he was pretty sure that he was floating above the ground right then. Kissing Castiel felt right, like coming home, and he couldn’t get enough of it. Cas was just as enthusiastic, kissing Dean gently but with a fire that spread all the way to Dean as well.

Dean broke the kiss when laughter bubbled out of him, and Castiel snorted against his cheek.

“Christ, I can’t tell you how relieved I am right now. Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared.”

“Scared? But Dean, I thought I told you—”

“You told me we’d speak afterwards, and that was it. What was I supposed to think?”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Gotta say, that wasn’t the best way to handle this.”

“Neither was confessing your love right before my _paracleda_ , and then running away,” Castiel pointed out.

“I didn’t know what it meant!” Dean protested. “Are you really that surprised? To me, it seemed that I bared my soul to you, and you still wanted to marry someone else. I mean, not really, but—”

“I thought you knew what _paracleda_ meant,” Cas repeated. “You have several books on angel culture in your bookshelf.”

Sure, Dean owned a lot of books about angels, but it wasn’t like he’d actually read them _that_ closely. Mostly, he’d used the books as a reference for anatomy and checking that were no regulations about human/angel relationships. Everything he’d learned about angel culture had been through Cas, and in retrospect, that had been pretty foolish, because Cas had never been big on explaining details, and Dean had never been big on asking confirmation for his interpretations. Between those two extremes, it was a wonder they hadn’t run to communication issues quicker.

Castiel stroked Dean’s cheek with the tips of his feathers, and Dean relaxed against him. He took it as an apology.

“I’m truly sorry, Dean. I thought you knew, and were just jokingly referring to it as 'marriage' in the human sense. I’ve never hid my roots or my culture from you, after all.”

Embarrassingly, that was true. Dean just had never really taken the time to listen, and instead, had assumed a lot of things based on his own culture. Even if all he’d had to do to clear up any misconceptions was open his mouth and ask, or better yet, listen to Castiel when he talked about his culture.

“Nah, Cas, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot who didn’t take the time to listen,” Dean said. “You know I learn better with my hands than my head.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.”

“But I mean it. I’ve been a crappy listener. I didn’t even know what this, this whole _paracleda_ thing was or what it meant to you before—but I promise I’ll listen to everything from now on, no matter how trivial or stupid it might seem and—”

“Dean, that’s not necessary.”

“Of course it is. I’d be a crappy boyfriend if I didn’t.”

Only after saying it Dean realized that he’d once again made presumptions without asking Cas’s opinion first. He groaned, and dropped his head against Cas’s shoulder.

“Goddamnit, I’m so bad at this. Here I go, assuming things once again.”

“Dean,” Cas, said, a little laughter in his voice, “You’ll learn. We’ll learn together. And let me put your mind at rest: you didn’t overstep any boundaries.”

“Oh.” Dean dared to lift his eyes, and met Castiel’s amused ones. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Didn’t you just say that you won’t be making any more assumptions?” Cas teased him.

“Oh, shut up.”

Cas did shut up – by kissing Dean. They fell into that for a while, cradling each other and trading small kisses, until Cas broke it off. He rested his forehead against Dean’s, and as silly gesture as it was, it made Dean’s insides melt.

“Dean, I can assure you, I’d love to be your boyfriend. For the unforeseeable future.”

“What if you get bored?” Dean teased, although that was a real concern. Cas frowned.

“Of course I won’t. Dean, you’re one of the most interesting human beings I’ve ever met. Just looking at your soul is…intriguing.”

Dean leaned backwards, taking a closer look at Castiel. Cas’s eyes were faintly glowing blue once again, and although Dean had always dismissed that as a trick of light, he was starting to understand that there were a lot of things he didn’t know about Cas, or angels in general, and shouldn’t make any assumptions.

The glow was real. It was faint, but it wasn’t a trick of light. Castiel’s blue eyes were shining ever brighter than usual, so blue that it was unnatural.

“You can see my soul,” Dean stated.

“Well…yes.” Cas clearly didn’t see this as the huge revelation that it was to Dean.

“You can see my soul, and you never realized I was in love with you?”

Castiel looked embarrassed, at least.

“It’s more of a…” Castiel searched for a suitable word. “It’s more of a colorful snapshot of the mind,” he finally said. “Certain emotions are easy to tell apart, but most are meshed together. Human emotions are very complex and interwoven, after all.”

“So, what do I look like?”

“Green.”

“Wow, way to flatter a girl, Cas.”

“I mean that,” Cas said, amused. “You glow in different shades of green. Orange. Gold. Luscious colors of a summer’s day.”

Dean fell silent for a moment, and Castiel kept looking at him, with that strange, bluish glow in his eyes again.

“So, um,” Dean said, unable to look away from Cas’s eyes, “you couldn’t tell from _that_ that I—”

“I can’t read your mind, Dean, not literally,” Cas said. “A soul is a representation of the mind, but it’s painted in broad strokes, and it varies from person to person what the colors mean, exactly. It’s easy to tell from your soul that you love with your whole heart, but…”

“You couldn’t tell who that was aimed at,” Dean concluded.

Castiel looked embarrassed again, and Dean had to laugh at that.

“Pity,” Dean grinned. “You might like what I’m thinking about right now.”

“Show me,” Cas said. His gaze felt suddenly heavier, and Dean enjoyed the weight of it on him.

“Maybe later,” Dean said. “I guess, uh, if you really can’t read my mind, then there’s something else I ought to show you first.”

Cas raised his brows, but didn’t protest when Dean took his hand – hesitantly, at first, but Cas let his fingers slide in between Dean’s with ease, and that reassured Dean.

Cas’s wings twitched with interest when Dean led him downstairs, knocking against the wall as they descended the stairs. Dean led him to the center of the room, and curious, Cas looked around. The space was obviously much cleaner than when he’d last visited, but it was still bare, and it took some imagination to see a restaurant here.

“I wanted to do this weeks ago,” Dean said. He paused, thinking what he should say next, and then stopped over-planning things when he felt Castiel squeeze his hand. “When I heard that Missouri was closing down this place, I could only think of one thing. I wanted this place. It’s ours, we grew up here. So, um. I guess I went ahead and bought us…um, something, to, to share. To live in. And to earn a living, I guess.”

“Dean,” Cas gasped, “you bought this for me?”

“For us,” Dean said shyly. “D’you like it?”

Castiel spread his wings over them, and they filled the room, but didn’t bump into the ceiling or the walls. Dean felt like he’d already gotten Cas’s approval.

“I love it,” Castiel finally said. “But you’ve been planning the restaurant for ages, now. Did you decide on a theme yet?”

“Well, um, I was thinking of making this a burger place, seeing as those are your favorite, and—”

“And it’s the first thing we ever ate here,” Cas finished.

“I may have presumed a bit too much?”

“Perhaps,” Cas said, but it was accompanied by that small, quirky smile, so Dean didn’t feel too bad about it.

“You don’t think this is creepy? Because that’s what all our so-called friends kept telling me.”

“It’s _wonderful_ ,” Castiel said. “I just…this is so much, Dean. I can’t give anything in return.”

“Hey, c’mon, we’ll work on this together. That’s enough for me. And you’ve already given enough.”

“Dean, I…” Cas’s wings suddenly gathered close to them, encircling Dean. Cas took both of his hands, and blinking in surprise, Dean let him. Cas was staring at him, heavily again, but it was a different kind of weight than before. And then he began reciting something that Dean had never heard before.

“ _Caharisateosa a gohed ialapereji aaoime._ [2]

_Geh en aoiveae od geraa,_

_en ror od madariatza._

_Ioanoan, ooaoanas a iaod;_

_A ge zol, ol barinia a uls._

_Erm en aisaro abraasa,_

_zomdv aisaro bliorb,_

_ge trian ugegi commah._

_Erm faaip, erm en monons,_

_Ge bolapia el_.”

Entranced, Dean listened as Castiel spoke, eyes never straying from Cas’s. When Castiel finished his speech, there was an absolute silence for a moment.

“Cas,” Dean said, tears prickling his eyes, “I have no clue what you just said, but whatever that was, you can keep telling me that.”

“Of course, en qzmoz.”[3]

“Again, no idea what you said, but thanks.”

Castiel grinned. “Does someone have a little language kink?”

“Um. No?”

“Try again.”

“Absolutely not. In fact, for all I know, you just wooed me to the lyrics of ‘Ballad of Chasey Lain.’”

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas said, affronted. “That couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean smiled. “So, what was that?”

Cas’s wings twitched, and from that gesture alone, Dean knew that this would be something very personal for Cas to admit.

“Um. It was a…traditional vow.”

“Vow? For what?”

“Marriage,” Cas mumbled.

Dean stared at Castiel for a second, before leaping forward and kissing Cas with everything he had. Castiel let out a gasp, surprised, before wrapping his arms and wings around Dean, and answered the kiss with just as much fervor. They got lost in it, kissing for a long time, and only separated for brief moments to catch their breath. Even then, Cas’s lips never left Dean’s skin, and vice versa; they mapped out each other with haste and enthusiasm that would’ve been embarrassing to witness, if Dean had looked at them from the outside.

Making up for all the lost time by making out like teenagers, Dean supposed.

Cas nipped his teeth against Dean’s neck, making him gasp out loud, and Dean returned the favor by grazing his teeth against Cas’s ear. Figuring each other out was quickly becoming a lot heavier game than before, and when their breaths started to heave, Dean had enough presence of mind to pull apart and ask,

“Um. Wanna go back upstairs?”

Cas tried to catch his breath, and licked his lips. Dean couldn’t stop staring at the way they shone.

“If you insist,” Cas said. He grabbed Dean by the waist, making Dean gasp out in surprise. The ground suddenly disappeared, and Dean felt like he was walking on air, suspended by something invisible. When he felt the floorboards under his feet again, his stomach lurched nastily, and Dean had to fight the reflex to gag.

“ _Never_ do that again. Eugh, my stomach.”

“I’m sorry.” Cas petted Dean’s back, waiting for him to catch his breath. “I didn’t think flying would affect you like this. This hasn’t happened with anyone else.”

“That’s what she said,” Dean muttered. “Or more like, what you told her.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean straightened up. “And, you know, maybe I’m just not suited for flying. I’m no angel.”

“You’re definitely no angel,” Castiel said, eyes glinting. Dean grinned back.

“Show me?” he asked, echoing Castiel’s words from before.

“Of course,” Cas said. He grabbed Dean’s thighs, hoisting him up, and on instinct, Dean wrapped his legs around Cas’s waist. His hands fell on Castiel’s shoulders, uncertain, but Castiel’s wings came to his back, supporting him.

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean had known Castiel was strong, much stronger than human males would be, but he’d never used that strength on Dean. Castiel picking Dean up like he weighted nothing was…well, it was a surprisingly hot experience. Dean’s mind helpfully and instantly supplied a number of fun ways Cas could use that strength, and when he remembered that Cas had an inhuman stamina to match that strength, he groaned out loud.

“What?” Castiel asked, starting to walk towards the bedroom – or, well, the empty room with a mattress in it. Though, Dean suspected that it would be redecorated soon to be much more welcoming.

“Cas, fuck, do you know how hot that was?”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Me picking you up, or carrying you?”

“Both. Everything.”

“Should I take that as a hint, or—”

“Enough talking,” Dean gasped, and bent down to kiss him. He didn’t think he’d survive that particular discussion with Cas without coming in his pants like a teenager, and he had no wish to do so yet, when they were just getting started.

Cas lowered him on the mattress and crawled over him, and his wings kept stroking against Dean’s arms and face. Dean couldn’t get enough of that soft feeling; it was enough to make him as light-headed as kissing Cas made him. He grabbed a handful of feathers, and tugged Cas closer to him. Cas eagerly followed, with a low moan. Heat spiked inside him, and it had nothing to do with the way Cas’s chest was pressed against his. This was more all-consuming, slowly burning fire than the one that was igniting him from the outside.

Dead didn’t know what to make of his jumbled thoughts, except that he needed to get closer to Cas. His suit pants were starting to feel uncomfortable (Christ, he’d never even changed out of his wedding attire, and Cas was in a t-shirt and ratty old jeans), and Dean definitely wanted to feel Cas’s skin against his.

Cas’s lips kept traveling on his face, making a round between his lips, the angle of his jaw, his neck, and then returning to his lips again. Each kiss seemed to make the heat spreading in Dean’s body even hotter, and Dean’s fingers kept pulling at Cas’s wings with more force. Cas’s knee was slotted between his legs, and without noticing, Dean had wrapped his thighs around Cas’s leg, and was pulling him closer with every movement. They both groaned when their bodies met in a particularly harsh movement, and for a moment, Dean saw stars.

“Do you think,” Castiel breathed against his skin, “that we’re moving too fast?”

“I think we’ve waited long enough,” Dean groaned. He lifted his hips, shamelessly grinding against Cas’s knee, and Castiel breathed harshly and answered the movement.

“Dean, we’ve only just—”

“If you’re on board, I’m on board,” Dean said.

Castiel ground against him again, making them both gasp, and that was an answer in itself. They continued the movement, Cas’s hips rolling down to Dean’s with a faster rhythm than before.

Rubbing against each other like this was great, but it wasn’t _enough_. Dean struggled to catch his breath, but when he did, he put a hand on Cas’s cheek to get his attention and gasped,

“Cas, wait, wait up—”

“Dean?” Cas stopped moving instantly, but Dean grabbed him by the neck to stop Cas from getting away.

“I didn’t mean to stop completely. I just…This is nice, but could we do this in a little more, I don’t know, informal setting? Less clothes?”

Cas chuckled, relief clear in his voice. “Absolutely.”

Hesitantly, Dean let his fingers travel downwards Cas’s body. Cas smiled as his touches turned teasing, and Dean might’ve spent a few moments brushing his fingertips against Cas’s nipples over the t-shirt, before finally taking a hold of the shirt and pulling it over Cas’s head. Despite having witnessed it numerous times, it never ceased to amaze him how the shirt simply slid through the wings, as through water. How Cas’s wings could be corporeal and still interact like this with other things, Dean had no idea.

In turn, Castiel undid Dean’s button-down and slowly pulled it off of him. When that was done, they took a moment to just look at each other, enjoying the warmth coiling between their chests. Cas dipped his head and kissed Dean’s neck, worrying his teeth against a vein in a filthy way that made Dean’s toes curl. Cas kissed his way down to Dean’s chest, and then lower, until he reached Dean’s pants. Anticipating it, Dean grabbed the zipper himself and pulled it down. Cas’s hands momentarily fell on his, and Dean grinned up at him.

“Come on,” Dean said, and Cas didn’t need any more encouragement. Dean lifted his hips, and slowly, Castiel slid the pants down Dean’s legs. There was a wet patch on Dean’s boxers, and Cas’s eyes seemed to hone on it. He crouched instantly to nose at it, and Dean’s breath hitched when he felt Cas’s warm breath over his cock.

“Cas,” Dean groaned, because there were still way too many clothes between them, and Cas took the hint. His fingers slipped inside the boxers, and then, in one swift motion, they were gone, too. Dean wasn’t the type to blush easily, but the way the top feathers of Cas’s wings sprang up as he looked down at Dean did the trick.

“Enjoying the scenery?” Dean huffed, jiggling his hips a bit. Cas huffed a laugh at that. His hand slid upwards Dean’s thigh, inching closer and closer to his cock – Dean got the impression that Cas wanted to give him time to back out, but Dean was absolutely not doing that. Cas briefly glanced at him before his hand curled around Dean’s hard cock, and Dean’s head fell backwards as Castiel stroked him firmly.

Whatever fantasies Dean had had of Cas jerking him off, they couldn’t compare to the real thing. Cas’s eyes never left his, and the way Cas’s wings curled against him was impossible to replicate – punny or not, Dean felt like he was in heaven.

“You’re beautiful,” Cas said. Dean’s eyes might’ve gotten a tad damp at that.

“Cas, c’mon, wanna see you too,” Dean mumbled. Cas nodded, giving him one last stroke, and then leaned backwards on his knees to unbutton his jeans. Dean sat up, eager to help, and together, they got Cas out of his jeans and boxers. They paused to fumble their socks off as well, and after that, fell back on the mattress.

For a while, they just looked at each other, curious. Even if they’d shared an apartment during college, they’d been remarkably discreet for young men, and Dean had only gotten one glimpse of Cas’s naked body during all those years. Now, he let his gaze roam free, and Cas returned the favor. Dean’s throat felt dry as he looked at Cas – the man was gorgeous, head to toe. Dean couldn’t wait to get acquainted with every inch of his body, in explicit detail.

Cas’s hips twitched as well as his wings, and the heat returned then, with them starting to grind against each other again. Dean moaned, unashamed, when their cocks slid together, with nothing in between them.

“Dean,” Cas mumbled, his hips working faster. Dean matched the movement, hooking his legs around Cas’s waist, and that change in the angle made a world of difference. It was getting hotter, and Cas’s wings were pressing more insistently against Dean’s skin. Something warm and oily dripped onto Dean’s arm then, and when Dean focused his eyes enough to follow the trail, he saw that Cas’s wings were gleaming with oily substance on them.

“Holy shit,” Dean hissed, “is that—your wings—”

“My wing oil,” Cas said, murmuring as if he could barely concentrate. “I’m sorry, there’s usually much less of that.”

“Are you kidding, that’s the hottest—ah!—thing ever—”

“ _Dean_.”

Hearing Cas call out his name like that almost fried Dean’s brain on the spot. Desperately, he grabbed Cas’s wings, wanting to bury himself in them, and the moan Cas gave out at that was wholly worth of getting his face slapped with an oily wing.

It took Dean a while to get the next words out. “Cas, do you—do you wanna—”

“What?”

“Do you wanna—” Dean searched for the correct words for a moment, but then gave up subtlety, because it was too hard to think. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Oh, fuck,” Cas groaned. More oil dripped to Dean’s skin; one drop landed on his lips, and Dean dipped out his tongue to taste it before he had time to think. Cas’s eyes darkened at that, and hungrily, he leaned forward to kiss Dean.

Cas’s oil didn’t taste like anything Dean knew; there was a hint of something akin to coconut in it, but with something much sweeter. Dean chased after the taste, and they got lost in the kiss, until the taste waned, and they pulled apart.

“If you want to,” Castiel gasped, his breath hot against Dean’s skin.

“I really do.”

“I do, too,” Castiel said, and Dean pretended that his breath didn’t catch at that particular wording.

Dean ground his hips against Cas’s for one final time, before rolling away. Castiel let him go, struggling to catch his breath, and waited as Dean crawled to the nearest box of the only three he had in his apartment. To his pleasant surprise, he found what he was looking for in the first box.

“A-ha!” Dean said, proudly presenting a bottle of lube to Cas. Castiel didn’t look impressed.

“You have three boxes of stuff here, and you packed lube among the things to be moved first?”

“Hey, I know my priorities.” He crawled back to the mattress. “Now scoot over, I need some space for this.”

“I’d rather—” Castiel started, then shut his mouth. Dean blinked, not understanding what Cas was trying to say at first, but then it hit him. Shyly, Dean smiled at Cas.

“Do you wanna open me up?”

“I’d, I’d like to. If that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathed, “of course.”

Dean flopped onto his back, passing the bottle to Cas, and then tried to relax as he watched Cas open the bottle. The first touch against his rim made him shiver, but then he relaxed against Cas’s touch, as if his body recognized who approached him and put out all the fight.

“Dean,” Cas murmured. He didn’t continue, but he didn’t need to. Dean hooked one leg around his waist, eye contact never breaking, and then Cas’s thumb pressed inside.

“Oh,” Dean gasped, because even if he’d done this numerous times to himself, it felt so different with a partner. Especially when that partner was _Cas_. There was lube, precome, and wing oil on his skin, and Cas was pushing a mixture of that against his rim. Dean probably should’ve found that disgusting, but instead, the thought of Cas’s oil covering him only made him feel hotter under his skin. Dean moaned, accidentally way too loud, when Cas pushed his thumb further inside, but Cas’s heavy gaze made it feel okay. Besides, they didn’t have any neighbors – Dean might as well be as loud as he wished.

“Dean,” Cas murmured. Dean barely even noticed it when Cas switched from his thumb to two fingers, because he was too busy luxuriating in the feeling of being wrapped up in Cas’s feathers. It was nearly overwhelming, to be feeling so good inside and outside, and Dean couldn’t help a string of gasps when Cas curled his fingers inside him.

“I love the sounds you make,” Cas mumbled, and that made all of Dean’s worries about keeping it down disappear.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean groaned. “Keep going, I’m, I’m—”

Cas kept going; his fingers pushed and retreated in a slow rhythm, until Dean was trembling, the intensity of it washing over him in waves. Cas didn’t seem to be better off – his wings were dripping with oil, and sweat was already gathering to his forehead. It was flattering, really, how turned on Cas was just by looking at him, Dean reflected.

Dean’s breath stuttered when Cas’s fingers curled against his prostate, and that did it. Dean needed Cas inside him, right now. He could come from just Cas’s fingers another day.

“Cas, c’mon, need you to—”

“Yeah,” Cas breathed. He retreated his fingers, wiping them against the mattress – not that it mattered, because the whole mattress was covered in wing oil and other bodily substances. It was pretty nasty, in fact. They’d definitely need to get a new mattress.

Cas looked around the room then, and Dean instantly realized the problem.

“Um, I don’t have any condoms, is that okay?”

“I haven’t been with anyone since college, and I’ve been tested since then,” Cas said. He looked worried for a second, and Dean shook his head at that.

“Me neither,” Dean said. “Been with anyone since college, I mean. God, it’s been long.”

“Way too long,” Castiel nodded.

“Get on with it, then,” Dean snorted, bumping his knee against Cas’s hip.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Now get on with it,” Dean repeated, sliding his fingers in Cas’s hair and tugging him closer.

“If you insist,” Cas quipped.

Slowly, Cas pushed in. Despite his insistence, Dean had to force himself to relax, and Cas seemed to sense that, because his hands came to cradle Dean’s head, as well as his wings. But then, everything fell into place, and Cas slid fully inside with a small gasp.

Dean couldn’t even begin to describe the feeling. It was everything he’d ever wanted, as cliché as that was.

Slowly at first, Castiel started to move, but Dean encouraged him to pick up the rhythm by moving against him, and together, they found the perfect pace. Dean was overwhelmed, as was Cas, and he knew this wouldn’t last long, but he wanted to enjoy it for as long as they could.

The pace picked up before either of them noticed it, and then slowed again, before picking up again. The air was humid, and all Dean could smell was coconuts, because Cas’s wings were absolutely dripping against him, and all Dean could do was to hold on to Cas and wish the moment would never end.

Dean lasted an embarrassingly short time. He was already on edge, had been for ages now, but when Castiel cupped his cheek and moaned against his skin, it was all over.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered. “I love you.”

It was just a whisper against his skin, probably not meant to be heard, but it was enough. Dean’s world went white for a moment, and he let out a long gasp as he came. Feeling his come slide between them as Cas continued to move against him was a new experience, and he weakly waited for Cas to finish. Drowsily, Dean encouraged Cas with his feet, and Cas picked up the rhythm momentarily.

“Your eyes are glowing,” Dean mumbled. It was true: Castiel’s eyes had a blue glow to them, but it was much more pronounced than when he’d been looking at Dean’s soul before. Dean couldn’t look away.

“Dean,” Cas breathed harshly. He closed his eyes, and with a stuttering breath, he came as well. Dean held onto him as he gathered his breath, and clung close even Cas slipped out of him, and they fell onto their sides.

Dean was exhausted, and Cas seemed to be, as well. Panting, they kept looking at each other, smiling gently, and although they didn’t speak, they said much. Dean was pretty sure he drowsed off at some point, if only for a minute or two, but when he opened his eyes again, Cas was still there, looking at him. Cas was playing with his hair, gently brushing back the strands that were stuck on his forehead due to sweat. Dean’s left hand was clutching Cas’s wing, the feathers slotted between his fingers, and Dean realized that he must’ve done that when he’d nodded off. He didn’t let go.

“Hey,” Dean said.

“Hi,” Cas smiled at him.

“So that was awesome.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Cas said. “I thought to so too.”

“Good,” Dean grinned. Cas dropped a wing over him, and happily, Dean curled against him. For a while, they didn’t speak again; Dean kept looking at Cas and making sure that he was really there, that this wasn’t a dream. But Cas didn’t disappear, never looked away, and Dean enjoyed the surety of that.

“So, I have a question,” Dean finally broke the silence. “If we have children, won’t they be nephilim? Or is that forbidden?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Cas said, startled into a laugh. “I highly doubt I could get you pregnant.”

“Well, you could, maybe that’s one of those angel things no one knows about,” Dean teased.

“I could try, for you,” Cas said.

“You definitely need to keep trying,” Dean grinned.

 

* * *

 

Dean’s mattress got replaced the very next day, got a real bed under it two days after that, and the apartment above the restaurant became he and Castiel’s home the next week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're on mobile, or the alt text translations aren't visible, here's what Castiel is reciting in Enochian:
> 
> 2  
> “Let there be an everlasting flame between us.  
> You are my stars and moon,  
> my sun and skies.  
> In your eyes, I see the beginning;  
> in our hands, we hold the ending.  
> With my promise to provide,  
> your promise of comfort,  
> we shall grow strong together.  
> With your voice, with my heart,  
> we are one.” [ return to text ]
> 
> 3 My joy. [ return to text ]


End file.
